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From "The Country of the Pointed Firs" Josephine H. Batchelder, '95 . 49 

The Influence of the College Settlement Katharine Coman .... 53 

A Series of Interviews ..... Edith B. Lehman, 1900 ... 58 

Le Moniteur du Pats an Edith Orr, '98 .... 62 

Sleep Jeannette A. Marks, '99 . . 73 

"Just to Burt Mt Face In the Green" . Jeannette A. Marks, '99 . . 73 
The Miraculous Disappearance of Ruth 

Hopkins Pauline M. Pitcher, '98 . . 74 

Apple-tree Plots Margaret Bell Merrill, '99 . . 80 

Jottings 86 

Editorials 89 

Inter-Societt Rules, 1897-98 93 

Free Press 94 

Exchanges 94 

Book Reviews 97 

Books Received 99 

College Notes 99 

Societt Notes 101 

Alumnus Notes 104 

Marriages 108 

Births 108 

\d#i. ot. — IRovember, 1897 — no. 2. 

Entered in the Post-Offlce at Welleiley, Mais., as second-class matter. 


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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. VI. 


No. 2. 


MARY O. M ALONE, '98. 




EVA G. POTTER, '98. 


The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Student Body. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss Betty Scott, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
will be received by Miss Rachel 8. Hoge, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

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Advertising business is conducted by Miss Mary L. Barker, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications should in all cases be sent to 
Miss Eva G. Potter, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, $1.75 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


The reader of Miss Jewett's story of a summer in the Country of the 
Pointed Firs needs no happier introduction to the deep-shaded, rock-bound 
islands of CaSCO Bay. If one has, moreover, the good fortune to spend two 
August weeks among the haunts of the friendly fisher folk, one may carry 
away bright pictures for the winter working-hours ahead, and get glimpses 
into lives which are dependent for their existence upon the changing moods 
of the sea. 

One of the most primitive and unpretentious of the fishing islands lies 
farthest out to open ocean. It is the last stop of the little coast-line steamer 
which, in the summer season, makes three trips daily down Portland 
Harbor, eastward into the hay. A [over of the island was wont to say that 
the next stop after Orr's would he England, and it was no hard matter to 
fancy the shores of the greater isle juM beyond the far sea line, where white 
sails were forever disappearing into the blue. 


The morning we made our trip was full of interest. We liked the easy 
good nature of the boat hands on the wharf, and were amused to hear one of 
the men call after us in a slow, drawling voice, " Can't you make a stop at 
the Cape this morning, Cap'n, and take on the hencoops for Miss Peterson 
down to Bailey's?" The captain shouted back an affirmative, and obligingly 
turned the course of the boat, which had been headed for the bay. 

No one was in a hurry. At the various landings along the route con- 
versations were taken up at the point where they had been dropped the day 
before, and were carried on leisurely while the gang plank was being laid 
down for a stray passenger or two, and the barrels of fresh lobsters were 
rolled aboard by the bare-armed fishermen. One we noted in particular — 
a genuine giant, of enormous breadth and thickness, with whom each mem- 
ber of the crew exchanged some jovial greeting. "It's nigh onto twenty 
year now," observed the mate, as he followed the direction of our gaze, 
"since Azariah has missed a boat. ' Twould be an unlucky clay for the 
boat that left Chebeague with no good word from Azariah." 

The end of the two hours' sail brought us to the tiny settlement of the 
sea made known to story-loving people nearly thirty years ago in " The 
Pearl of Orr's Island." No one should go there who longs for a modern 
hotel piazza or evenings of music and dancing in a crowded casino. It is 
the home of quiet folk who live simply, and the nights are still, save for the 
breaking of the sea on a rocky northern coast. It is the place to hunt for 
treasures in shining pools among the rocks, and to wonder at the mysterious 
power which for centuries has been wearing steadily into the heart of the 

Our first afternoon was one of keen delight in discovery. The steamer 
enters port from the bay side, and the rising ground of the island hides the 
rough water of the open sea, which beats on the shore be} r ond. A three 
minutes' walk took us to the plain brown house where we were to stay, but 
we caught no glimpse of ocean. The quiet water of the bay, which lapped 
gently back and forth in the noon breeze, was like an inland lake. No one 
told us that the Atlantic lay at our back door. After dinner we walked 
somewhat wearily up the one white road through the fir trees, wondering 
whether the whole island were inclosed in the barbed-wire fence which met 
us at every turn toward the sea. We asked a photographer whom we met 


to kindly tell us how to find the ocean. This request, on an island at that 
point less than a half mile broad, seemed to give him a pleasing thought 
for the moment ; but he answered, gravely, that if we would follow yonder 
path to the right through the bay berry bushes, he thought we could not 
miss it. We thanked him, took courage for another tramp, and were noting 
how skillfully we were evading the fences, when suddenly we came into a 
clearing; and there, straight before us, as far as the eye could measure, 
stretched the open sea, in its glory of light, and color, and motion. A fine 
surf was sweeping up the sides of the steep ledges. We climbed far out 
on one, and watched it. Sailboats and fishing smacks sped by swiftly. A 
line of breakers was dashing white against a reef a mile away. Beyond 
that we caught the outline of an out-bound steamer, until, at length, our 
eyes rested on the misty meeting place of sea and sky. By right of our 
long search, it seemed to belong all to us — and to the sea gulls flying low. 

We soon learned how large a part Mrs. Stowe's book had played in 
adding a certain romantic interest to the island. We were shown numerous 
photographs of "The Pearl House," " The Cave," and "The Grotto ; " were 
directed where to look for the little brown lean-to of the Pennel family, and 
the home of Sally Kittridge ; were told, in short, that the place was full of 
significant spots which marked critical situations in the lives and adventures 
of the hero and heroine of the tale. With something of this in mind we 
took the four-mile drive one day, quite to the end of the island, over an 
uneven, winding road which would have been desolate and lonely but for 
the unexpected glimpses of the sea at every turn of the way. Near the 
bridge, over which the stage road goes on to Brunswick, we overtook a tall, 
gaunt man, who was cheering an old horse, in a tipcart, up the hill. We 
asked him whether he could tell us where to look for the place called 
" Smuggler's Cove." He pushed back his big straw hat, and we saw a face 
furrowed with deep lines of battle with the sea winds, and marks of a greater 
struggle with tin; problem of daily existence. 

"Where's 'Smuggler's Cove,' d'ye say? Wall, now, I'm going to be a 
little frank w T ith ye," and he settled himself firmly back against the cart wheel 
as he spoke. " I used to see that Mrs. Stowe often wdien she was round here. 
She made a great book, an' it done a powerful sight for the island ; but as 
for them places, there ain't no such thing! You can call most anywhere by 


them names ; one's as good's another. I s'pose you want to find Cap'n 
Kitti'idge's house, too, don't you? Wall, you're about as near to it now as 
you ever will be, because here's one of his sons!" and as the lean, brown 
islander's grey eyes twinkled at us appreciatively, we found it not difficult to 
imagine that one of the six stalwart sailor lads brought up by the skillful 
hand of Mis' Kittridge stood before us in the flesh. We were well pleased 
with this tribute to the novelist's art of evading accurate details and still 
keeping the local color true. We cared little for the scene of the midnight 
meeting of Moses and the smugglers, if this plain, grim down-easter with a 
sense of fun in him would talk with us. 

Oft* on our right the shore was strewn with broken hulls and mastheads. 
The boat landings at that end of the island were in disuse, and over them lay 
torn bits of rigging and parts of old machinery. It was all unkempt and for- 
lorn. We remembered that in Miss Jewett's story she had touched often 
upon the bitter loss suffered by the Maine fishing villages when the great ship- 
building industry had gradually passed away from them, and the noble calling 
of shipmaster fallen into less esteem. We asked if the old days had been 
indeed so different. The light died out of his eyes as we questioned him. 

"It's seventeen years ago since the shipping went out," he answered, 
sadly. "There ain't nothing left for us here; there's nothing on the island 

He grew thoughtful after that, and we went on up the hill, tandem 
fashion, until we came to a low, white house. He asked us to stop a minute, 
and brought us out two bits of curious, sparkling stone, which he said, with 
a twinkle, might have come from the cove where the smugglers used to meet 
at midnight years ago. 

Many times after that as we sat reading in the grotto, which was said to 
be the exact spot where Moses Pennel read the tragic story of his life, we 
thought of our friend, Captain Kittridge's son, and smiled. 

One other day upon the island stands out distinct from the rest, — the 
Sunday on which the Episcopal service was read in a tiny upper room, which 
was used for an ice-cream parlor on week days. The preparations had been 
hurriedly made, and the evidences of the daily use of the room had not all 
been taken away. Dustpan and broom hung on the wall, parts of an ice- 
cream freezer were plainly visible, and stray packing boxes had been utilized 


for seats. A table covered with a white cloth served for an altar. On this 
stood a great bowl of golden-rod, and against the brick chimney behind was 
fastened a perfect cross made of a branch of the pointed fir. The voice of the 
visiting rector was rich and clear, and everyone joined in the simple, hearty 
service. Two tiny brown children on a soap box, with a brown dog at their 
feet, laughed aloud during the responses. Outside there was the faint sound 
of the waves breaking on the far shore, and we were glad that the Psalter for 
the day read of the men "that go down to the sea in ships." 

The morning that we left the island we looked long at the friendly fir 
trees high upon the hills, and as we still turned back we noted that the tops 
of the pointed firs in the distance were forming clearly outlined crosses 
against the pale September sky. 

Josephine H. Batchelder, '95. 


The recent annual meeting of the electors of the College Settlements 
Association brought fresh assurance of the strength of that organization 
and of the deep and permanent influence it has established, not only in 
the college communities to which it especially looks for support, but in the 
world at large. The critics of a few years since are so far converted, that 
they accept the settlement as a welcome addition to the forces of righteous- 
ness at work in our city slums. 

Twelve colleges are now represented in the Association. The original 
quartette, Wellesley, Smith, Vassal", and Bryn Mawr, has been tripled by 
the accession of Radcliffe, Barnard, Wells, Elmira, Swarthmore, Cornell, 
Packer institute, and the Woman's College of Baltimore. The total mem- 
bership of the Association, graduate, undergraduate, and noncollegiate, 
exceeds two thousand. The annual fees for 1897 amounted to $5,700, and 
all but $800 of this was contributed by college women. For obvious geo- 
graphical reasons the Association finds its constituents in the Eastern col- 
leges, and limits its enterprises to the Eastern cities. We are, however, 
in hearty sympathy and accord with the ninety odd settlements maintained 
by various other organizations throughout the land, from Boston to Los An- 
geles, from Chicago to North Carolina. 


Three settlements have been planted by the College Settlements Asso- 
ciation. The first house, opened with so much doubt and anxiety in Riv- 
ington Street, New York, eight years ago, has doubled its original capacity, 
and has gained a strong hold upon its neighborhood. The Russian and 
Polish Jew population of that district has been regarded as the most difficult 
to assimilate of all the indigestible elements in the great city. Closely 
crowded together in unwholesome tenements, working like slaves in the 
sweated trades, ignorant as yet of our language and institutions, the alien 
Hebrews offer a complicated problem to the would-be reformer. Yet there 
are great possibilities in this unhappy people. They are intellectually keen 
and ambitious. Many of them have distinct musical talent. They are tem- 
perate and chaste, and devoutly loyal to the moral standards imposed by 
the Mosaic code. As workmen, they show remarkable energy and tireless 
endurance, and they are thirfty to a fault. Among such a people the intel- 
lectual and social opportunities offered by the settlement meet with quick 
response. Their eagerness to educate their children, and to guard them from 
evil, is pathetic when one remembers that the public school accommodation 
is insufficient, and that the saloon is the only attractive place of resort. The 
Rivington Street Settlement and the University Settlement, which is close 
at hand, have combined in the effort to enlighten their neighbors as to the 
issues involved in the city elections. There is good reason to believe that 
if once these people understand where the right of the matter lies, they may 
be relied upon to support the party of reform. It is encouraging to know 
that in the quarter of the city where machine politics have had absolute sway, 
so strong a leaven of righteousness is working. 

The Philadelphia Settlement was opened in April, 1892, in response to 
the request of the St. Mary's Street Literary Association. A library and an 
industrial school had for several years been maintained for the benefit of the 
negro population of that quarter ; but the men and women interested felt the 
great disadvantage of working at long range, and were glad to make it 
possible for others to live on the ground, and execute their plans for the 
betterment of the district. The neighborhood seemed almost hopelessly 
degraded, and it was evident from the first that the methods of work must 
be essentially different from those employed in New York. The people 
were abundantly religious, after their fashion, and abundantly social, even at 


the expense of industry and morals. The need was to train the boys to 
some useful trade, and the girls for domestic service, to make the men and 
women feel the value of honesty, industry, and righteousness. Further- 
more, the citizens of Philadelphia must be made to appreciate their common 
responsibility for this neglected quarter, and the forces of the municipality 
must be brought to bear in such wise as to remove the obstacles to pure 
and wholesome living. With this end in view the head worker has used 
all her influence in local elections, endeavoring to induce men to so use 
their votes as to secure effective political service. The work of the past 
five years has in good measure transformed the outward aspect of the neigh- 
borhood. Unsanitary tenements have been condemned, the street has been 
relaid, and a coffee-house has been provided by the city, which affords room 
for a branch of the public library. 

Denison House, the Boston college settlement, is situated in a distinc- 
tively working-class quarter. The people are largely Irish- Americans of the 
thrifty artisan type. The work has developed naturally along the lines of 
trade-unions, extension classes, and sociological study. Much has been 
done, moreover, in the way of supplementing the work of the ward schools. 
A kindergarten is held in the house for the little ones who are not provided 
for in the immediate vicinity ; a vacation school has been maintained for two 
summers past, with a view to furnishing pleasant and stimulating occupation 
to the children who would otherwise seek amusement in the streets. A 
local branch of the Public Library has been secured in the immediate neigh- 
borhood, and is well patronized. 

"But why college settlement?" one is often asked. "There are social 
settlements, and church settlements, and kindergarten settlements, and 
nurses' settlements ; each of these has an evident aim, but what excuse for 
being has the college settlement?" The college settlement exists for a 
double purpose : first, to insure that college-trained women shall contribute 
their quota to the forces of reform. The College Settlements Association 
is a tangible expression of our sense of obligation. We have received much 
of the best things of life ; we desire to give in our turn. Again, the college 
settlement exists in order to give educated women, who are destined to 
be more and more intrusted with the philanthropic work of our cities, the 
means of knowing at first hand the conditions with which they will have to 


deal, of growing wise, and clear-sighted, and firm. They must be tempered 
by actual experience before undertaking great and critical responsibilities. 

A recent publication of the Association records the impressions of a 
number of women who had resided a considerable time in one or more set- 
tlements. The inquiry was conducted by Miss Vida Scudder, and its results, 
as collected by her, give abundant evidence of the wisdom won from such 
a sojourn. 

In answer to a question as to the personal gains and losses of settlement 
life, one writes : — 

"In the six months spent in the Settlement, I consider that I gained more 
knowledge of life than I could in almost any other experience in a similar length 
of time." 

Another finds the opportunities almost superabundant : — 

"Settlement life is so rich and full that the pace is apt to be too great. It 
requires a nature of exceptional mental, moral, and physical strength not to be 
overwhelmed by the inrush of new impressions. For this reason every Settle- 
menter, in addition to her annual holiday, should occasionally go away and 

To the question, "Has the experience gained in the settlement been 
put to any use at home?" suggestive answers are given. 

One of the early residents in New York writes : — 

"Constantly; but my home has been a kind of private settlement in a 
tenement house." 

Another : — 

"My Settlement experience has been of incalculable value to me in life and 
work among the working people, with whom my husband's work lies. The true 
significance of a home was taught me there, — its best right to happiness ; and as 
the opportunity has come to me, I have tried to make my own home such a centre 
as I learned to feel, through Settlement life, that a home should be." 

A frequent argument against the settlement method is, that the attempt 
to share our interests and our pleasures with the classes who cannot procure 
such for themselves, must arouse discontent. In response to such a query, 
one experienced worker replies : — 

"What excites the poor to rebellion, covetousness, and anarchy is the harass- 
ing sight or thought of ostentatious luxury. Wealth often means this to them, 


and they know nothing of the modest standards of thoughtful, Christian people. 
Settlements represent these standards. They embody a sort of simple living 
which every citizen should commend, and suggest an inward wealth apart from 
outward possessions. If they rouse in the poor an impassioned desire to own such 
wealth, and the moderate leisure and security from fear of starvation essential to 
it, they do well." 

Brought face to face with poverty, these women are led to recognize 
its limitations and its possibilities. 

"When I went into settlement work, poverty seemed to me very uncomfort- 
able and very demoralizing. I was surprised to find that people were not as 
uncomfortable as I should be under the circumstances ; that lack of a decent home 
did not necessarily mean lack of artistic appreciation ; nor lack of proper food, 
lack of a proper spirit. 

"On the other side, the sort of poverty that means either no opportunity to 
work, or such constant work that there is little strength left for ambition, or 
thought, or pleasure, i. e., nothing left but a physical life, seems to me a crime for 
which the rest of us often are as responsible as the victim. 

" No one who has not lived in a tenement district can realize the awfulness 
of abject poverty. ... A small but certain income, stimulating to action and 
securing self-denial, I do not consider an evil, but an advantage. 

"The moral effects of extreme poverty are much less detrimental than I had 
supposed, but I had never realized how fearful and far-reaching the physical 
results are." 

Finally, a head worker sums up for us : — 

"The poverty that makes it absolutely hopeless to get anything like a full 
development of the individual or a fair chance in life, seems to me worse than I 
had realized. On the other hand, I have come to see that a person with too much 
of this world's goods is nearly as badly handicapped in otlier ways. Lack of 
character seems the worst thing and the greatest evil ; tilings do not matter much 
except as they react on character. The poverty that dwarfs and blunts is most 
horrible, and I never realized it as I have since I came here. Under present con- 
ditions I've come to the conclusion that a certain degree of poverty is a stimulus, 
but it must not be hopeless poverty." 

As remedies for existing evils, settlement workers propose a goodly 
list : improved housing of the poor, organization of labor, the eight-hour 
day, playgrounds and parks, better schools, industrial training, public baths, 
coffeehouses, cooking and sewing classes, thrift, an income tax, free silver, 


etc. But they do not believe that any or all of these reforms are sufficient 
to make men prosperous and happy. There is a very general recognition 
of the fact, overlooked by many reformers, that society is built upon char- 
acter, and that an essential preliminary to the millennium is the regeneration 
of mankind. 

"I came to see during my settlement life that the spiritual evils were far 
worse than the temporal. Therefore, I became more cautious and conservative 
than I had been. 

"The conviction deepens that while we are bound to do all we can to bring 
about more just conditions in society, still, even a perfect distribution of wealth 
would not render our social conditions what they should be. To this end the 
development of character and belief in spiritual verities is more important than 
any redistribution of wealth. This is to apply to rich and poor alike." 

Such expressions give evidence of that hardly acquired wisdom that 
consists in a sense of proportion. Surely the college settlement is carried 
on not only by, bat for, college women. It is a sociological laboratory, and 
as legitimate a means of higher education as the graduate course or the 
foreign fellowship. 

Katharine Coman.. 


Horace Schuyler walked rapidly down the quiet, shady street. He 
was vaguely conscious of the familiar old maples overhead, the nickering leaf 
shadows on the pavement, the trim green lawns, and the flower beds flaunt- 
ing gayly in the early summer sun, but he rather felt than saw these things. 
He had set his teeth, and his boyish face was fixed in grim, hard lines. " It 
will soon be over, thank Heaven," he thought, as he crossed a lawn and 
walked up the porch steps of a comfortable old brick house. He hesitated a 
moment before touching the bell, and then inwardly imprecated his own 
cowardice for fearing to do what every honest man would do under the 
same circumstances. 

The maid who answered his ring stared at him with some surprise.. 
" Why, Mr. Horace," she said, " we wasn't expectin' you." 

" Is mother at home?" asked Horace. 


" Yes ; she is in her sitting room." 

" Never mind about calling her ; I'll go up myself," he said. " She is 
not ill, is she?" 

" Mercy, no ! " exclaimed the maid. 

At this assurance Horace plucked up courage and knocked at his 
mother's door. She came herself to open it, and for a moment stood looking 
at him in utter amazement, — a tall, slender, severe apparition in her steel- 
gray silken gown. There had always been something awe-inspiring about 
Mrs. Schuyler. For one thing, she had been blessed with a larger amount 
of dignity than is usually bestowed upon the average mortal. That she 
made the most of it you will believe when I tell you that at that moment 
her own son shook at the knees. 

" You didn't expect to see me, mother," he said, rather lamely. 

" No. Why aren't you at Ithaca? You are not ill, Horace?" 

"No; don't be alarmed ; it isn't that. I've quit, mother ; that is all." 
The boy laughed perfunctorily as he crossed the room to seat himself. His 
mother stood looking down at him with her hand still on the doorknob. 
He felt unwarrantably like a man in the dock, — there for a good reason. 

"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Schuyler. 

" It is not easy to explain," Horace began. "Perhaps I should have 
thought longer before deciding, but it seemed to me that I had been doing 
too much of that sort of thing, — unprofitable thinking, you know. I want to 
do something now. I have only been playing at work these last three 
years, and I am tired of make-believe. I want the real thing now. Oh ! I* 
know what you are going to say, mother," he continued, excitedly; "but 
you can't understand how I feel about it. I am as much disappointed in 
myself as you are, and a good deal more ashamed. I am not doing this for 
the fun of the thing" 

Mrs. Schuyler's face hardened, as Horace's did when he was worried or 
angry. There was a good deal of the mother in the son, and, for that matter, 
a good deal of the son in the mother. " It would break my heart if you 
have disgraced yourself or done anything wrong," she said. 

"You needn't bother about that," he returned, proudly, "though for 
that matter I've played pranks for which better fellows have been called up 
and expelled. That is what has been the trouble all along. The fellows 



liked me, and the faculty liked me, and I learned easil} r enough to keep my 
liead above water and to swim through with precious little work. I have 
been an idiot ; fellows with half the chance and half the brains, I dare say, 
have accomplished twice as much. The long and the short of it is this : 
I'll never be fit for electrical en^ineerino- or anvthin^ else scientific. It is 
only wasting precious time and money for me to keep on. I hated to think 
of father's slaving away through these hard times to give me what I don't 
want and can never use, when I ought to be putting my own shoulder to the 
wheel. It made me feel like a thief, and that isn't agreeable, so I've stopped 

"What do you intend to do now?" asked Mrs. Schuyler, dryly. She 
was too shocked and disappointed to care to put sympathy into her voice. 

Something in her manner aroused all Horace's latent antagonism. He 
rose and picked up his hat. "I am going down town immediately to ask 
father or Mr. Herrick to put me into the office." 

"Oh, indeed! What are you going to tell them, — what you have 
just told me?" 

"Certainly. There is nothing more to say. I think father will under- 
stand;" and he left the room. 

Mrs. Schuyler remained for a time quite motionless. Till now she had 
not realized how much she had hoped for a successful termination of her 
son's apparently brilliant college career. She knew there would be no use 
in attempting to persuade him to return. He was too much like herself ever 
to change his mind when it had been once made up. But she hoped that 
people would not say unpleasant things. There was something so unnec- 
essarily melodramatic in his leaving college just before the close of his third 
year, — of course there would be talk. And Mrs. Schuyler disliked talk 
above all things. 

Meanwhile Horace, heart-heavy at being misunderstood, but pluckily 
determined to fight out the battle into which his suddenly awakened con- 
science had impelled him, was hailing a downward bound electric car. He 
felt rather at sea as to the result of the coming interview, but his father's 
views differed so radically from those of his mother, that he hoped for the 
best. He felt hungry for sympathy as a timid, sensitive girl, as he seated 
himself at a car window and looked moodily out at the flying houses, trees, 


and telegraph poles. Suddenly he felt a light touch upon his shoulder. He 
turned, and found himself face to face with his cousin, Mary Gardener. They 
had always been great friends. 

"I was sure it was you," the girl said gayly. "I recognized your 
' grand air,' and your scowl floated all the way around the side of your head 
back to me. But what are you doing here in Cleveland? Why aren't you 
in Ithaca ? " 

"The question I have just been asked," answered Horace. "I am 
here to work. As for why I am not in Ithaca, that is another story, as our 
friend Kipling says." 

The girl looked dissatisfied. " I am not joking. I want to know," she 

" Seriously, then, ma belle cousine, I have given up college and all plans 
connected therewith, and I intend to go into business this very afternoon. 
"Won't you wish me success?" 

" I shall do nothing of the sort; at least, not until I see a reason why." 

" O, it's simply a matter of capability, that is all." 

" Capability ! You have always done splendidly ; I have been so proud 
of you ! " 

" Yes, I believe I have a good voice for the Glee Club, know how to 
play football, and was considered a desirable acquisition by one or two ex- 
clusive frats." 

" I don't mean that." 

"But I do. Henceforth, however, I shall shine only as an awful warn- 
ing; a sort of Sunday-school book villain, — the little boy who wouldn't do 
his lessons, and who ended in the State penitentiary." 

"Of course you are underrating yourself. It isn't a bit like you. I 
don't understand it." 

"Thank you." 

•■ Now don't be angry; I don't like to lecture. But even if you haven't 
been doing as brilliantly as we imagined, you should at least have had pluck 
enough to keep at it, and stick it out a year longer. I didn't think you would 
give up so quickly, and I can't help being disappointed in you, Horace. 0, 
here's my street ;" and before Horace could say more she had left the car, and 
walked away with a gratifying sense of having said the virtuous thing. 


"Interview number two," thought Horace. "It's not pleasant to be 
called a coward, but that will be a mere incident, I suppose, to some of the 
other nice things people are going to say of me. They will probably give me 
all sorts of pretty nicknames, — spendthrift, good-for-nothing, brilliant failure, 
show-off, blockhead, and so on. Wonder which ones the dear old governor 
will add to my collection." 

He had entered the wholesale business district, and was picking his way 
among unloading trucks, flour barrels, hay bales, and every manner of mer- 
chandise. Men jostled and pushed him, and he fancied that some looked 
askance at his trim clothes and jaunty college air. He consoled himself with 
the thought that his band-box appearance would soon rub off. It was a 
rather enjoyable prospect. Had it not been so utterly unnecessary, he would 
have yielded to the temptation of rolling up his coat sleeves then and there 
and helping a blue-jeaned drayman unload a particularly heavy packing case. 
The rattle, roar, and confusion of the busy streets were as music to him. All 
the old, keen joy of life and combat he had so often felt on the football field 
came back to him, and he felt capable of anything. There was no longer any 
terror in the thought of facing his father. He had found his place, and he 
would keep it. 

A few minutes later, the clerks working in the office of the well-known 
firm of Schuyler & Herrick beheld the senior member of the house, after a 
long and earnest conversation with a tall young man who looked remarkably 
like him, take that } r oung man's hand in both his own and give it a most 
hearty and affectionate shake. From which they concluded that Mr. Schuyler 
had met some one whom he was uncommonly glad to see. 

Edith B. Lehman, 1900. 


Jean Jacques Remy, whose rise and fall it is my purpose to chronicle, 
was born in a village obscure indeed, but not unknown. A certain famous 
English traveler, passing through it in the year '89, noted with pleasure the 
well-tilled farms and sober industry of its inhabitants, and devoted some 
five lines of his journal to the expression of his satisfaction. The seigneur 
resided still upon his own estate, never going to Paris above once in five 


years ; and so remote was the province that his tenants were as little sensi- 
ble to the rumors of new ideas, as to the miseries of the old system. To be 
sure, the parish priest, a certain Abbe Paul, read and adored Rousseau, but 
he did it for the most part in private, and still looked upon the great man's 
livelier imitators askance. His parishioners paid their dues without a mur- 
mur, went to church, and ground their corn at the lord's mill, never imagin- 
ing any unhappiness in their own lot, or dreaming that there could be a 
better. You would have sought in any other spot than this the birthplace 
of a great man ; you would have chosen for his inspiration any people having 
more of the active and restless in their natures. My hero was never, indeed, 
illustrious, but he might have been ; not great, though he recognized in him- 
self the talents of a Danton or a Marat. The age was auspicious, his am- 
bition eager; and his dull surroundings, the mean spirits of the people whose 
leader he might have been, I hold responsible for the brief and abortive 
career of Jean Jacques Remy. 

And yet from his birth up Jean Jacques seemed marked out for great- 
ness. His name, for instance, was bestowed on him by a fortunate chance ; 
his parents, a worthy miller and his wife, had fixed on homely Jean Marie; 
but the good priest, running to the christening half an hour behind the time, 
had thrust his Savoyard Vicar into his pocket, seized the child and named 
him, in a burst of enthusiasm, Jean Jacques. Whether the miller had not 
whispered Jean Marie loud enough for the Abbe to hear, or whether he had 
heard and misunderstood, was for many years a favorite dispute with the 
disappointed parents. But if Jean Jacques had no meaning for them, it had 
for our hero, so soon as he was old enough to take it into consideration. 
For the good priest would stop him in the road, pat him on the head and 
say, " Thou wilt be a great man, Jean Jacques," as reverently as if the lad's 
only title to admiration had been a gift of nature, and not of himself. From 
his childhood, then, Jean Jacques felt himself called upon to be a leader, 
and never failed to put himself at the head of his companions for any sport 
or game : although their discrimination was not so acute as the good Abbe's, 
and they were as likely as not to depose Jean Jacques, and send him weep- 
ing home, acknowledged or not, our hero knew himself a hero still. 

His name, moreover, marked him out for an education, for even the 
genius of a Jean Jacques could not be expected to triumph over an ignorance 


of reading and writing. So when Abbe Paul took in hand the steward's 
son and the innkeeper's eldest boy, Jean Jacques, as a matter of course, was 
included among them. " Stick to your books, Jean Jacques, and you'll be 
a great man," said his mother, thinking, naturally enough, that since her son 
had shown as yet no aptitude for the common duties of life, he must have a 
genius for higher things. Accordingly Jean Jacques stuck to his books, 
learned to read his catechism as well as to say it, and even got so far as to 
construe a book or two of Virgil. Here his education stopped, and at the 
age of thirteen Jean Jacques abandoned the scholar's life, given up tearfully 
by the Abbe with a blessing, and a gift of the worthy priest's favorite work 
of Jean Jacques' great namesake. "Do your duty, and you'll be a great 
man yet, Jean Jacques," said Abbe Paul. 

Seven years passed before an opportunity came to Jean Jacques. The 
miller died, and the kindly seigneur allowed his son to continue in the mill, 
where Jean Jacques reigned supreme, took plentiful tolls, and did his duty 
to his mother and sister, by bullying them in the true heroic style. He 
propped up the family respectability by betrothing his sister out of hand to 
his old friend Henri, the innkeeper's son, and lent his countenance to the 
alliance by drinking nightly at the inn. But his lofty spirit was not happy. 
True to the counsel of the Abbe he read Rousseau and an occasional pam- 
phlet from Paris ; and in his infrequent remarks at the inn was understood to 
hint at " tyrants," and the " equality of man." He would gladly have gone 
further, and raged against the beastly content of the boors who gathered 
there, were it not for their habit of going to sleep on being addressed at airy 
length. Jean Jacques knew himself a man born out of his proper sphere, 
strode scornfully about his mill, and tended the hopper with an air impres- 
sively melancholy. The encouragement of the Abbe was no longer a spur 
to him, for the worthy priest had taken to shaking his head over him as a 
lost sheep ; not because of his new ideas, but because he had left off coming 
to church. Just at this melancholy period in the life of our hero all France 
began its preparations for the meeting of the States-General. Jean Jacques' 
interest in life revived, for one or two people were occasionally found to 
listen to him now ; and on the occasion of the seigneur's departure as a 
deputy, he delivered so stirring a harangue at the inn, that the innkeeper him- 
self awoke in time to say, "Hear! hear!" Jean Jacques was convinced 


that Heaven had made him for an orator, at least, and cursed the fate that 
condemned him to live on in humble obscurity. 

In spite of the distance from Paris, in spite of the apathy of the village, 
Jean Jacques was heart and soul in sympathy with the Revolution. Occa- 
sional journals which came to his hand he read with avidity ; occasional trav- 
elers who had been in Paris, or knew some one who had, he questioned with 
feverish eagerness. The information thus gleaned, he communed with 
his faithful future brother-in-law. 

" Why," would our hero say, shaking his fist at the patient Henri, 
" is an oppressor to sit in the halls of the assembly, free to declare his will, 
while we, the crushed, the down-trodden, sit passive by our firesides, unable 
to speak if we would? Why are the bonds of this unnatural system within 
his hands to be drawn still tighter, if he please? Why must I drag out my 
days a provincial Jeremiah, who might have been" 

" All very well, Jean Jacques," said Henri, humbly, " but you get your 
mill on very good terms, you know." 

" Bah ! " was all Jean Jacques could say to this ; " you falter; you do 
not love your country." Such was the stupidity, the frivolity he had daily 
to encounter. Had it not been for the glorious news that came at times from 
Paris, Jean Jacques would have despaired; it was something to know good 
men lived though he knew them not. 

When he heard of the twelfth of July, he could only sigh with envy ; 
hut at the news of the fourth of August, that the game laws were lifted, he 
knew he might act. So he took his father's old musket and went forth to 
seek Henri. But the faithful henchman shook his head at the proposal, 
and refused to go. 

"Henri," said Jean Jacques, " I cannot welcome to the bosom of my 
family a traitor and a craven." 

" But I don't wish to shoot," said Henri. " Suzette and I are going to 
tin- chateau." 

Jean Jacques bent upon him a thunderous look. "My sister shall 
never enter the halls of oppression," said he. " Besides, your place is with 

" Well, then, 1 can't shoot," said Henri, dropping his head. " 1 never 
brought anything down in my life." 


"Neither did I," confessed the great soul, patiently. " You miss the 
point ; it is a principle." 

So Henri brought forth an ancient and rusty firearm, and the two 
patriots went forth to assert their principles. I blush to say that the results 
were only two tame pigs, for which they compounded with a farmer's wife, 
but our hero had gained his point. 

And it was a great day for Jean Jacques, nevertheless. He returned 
to the inn that afternoon to have his fate decided. It has been often 
observed that every life has its great occasion, on which a trivial circum- 
stance, perhaps, determines the trend of a whole existence. The eighth of 
August was the day of Jean Jacques, — a day that might have been famous in 
the annals of his province. The scene was a quiet, a peaceful one ; as 
Rousseau awoke to inspiration by a country roadside, the second Jean Jacques 
saw the vision of his glory in a humble inn. A passing traveler, after a 
minute's conversation with our hero, pulled from his pocket a dingy and 
crumpled sheet, and thrust it into the young man's hands. Jean Jacques 
took it carelessly, began it with indifference, went on with attention, and 
finished it with burning enthusiasm. He recognized in its pages the pen of 
a kindred spirit ; the man of men whom he could hail as his master. That 
sheet was one which had inspired, and would inspire thousands ; no less a 
thing, in fact, that one of the raciest numbers of the "Ami du Peuple." 
Jean Jacques looked up to the common light of day, thrust the paper into 
his pocket, and strode forth with a haughty stride, — a man who had come at 
last to the knowledge of his own heart. He sought his humble home, turned 
the foolish Henri out of the house, sent Suzette weeping to bed, and spent 
the rest of the night in silent and solitary meditation. He, too, would 
become a prophet to his people, open their eyes to the vices and treachery of 
the great, and prepare the way for their emancipation. His village freed, 
why not his province? Might not those same services be demanded by his 
country? He saw himself the associate, the equal of Marat, together devoted 
to the salvation of France, and the marking out of traitors, together mould- 
ing and shaping the mind of the attendant people. 

Jean Jacques resolved to begin his career at once. Somewhere about 
two o'clock in the morning he resolved, first of all, to let his people know 
that their trusted lord was a tyrant. He would tell them of the privileges 


that rightfully belonged to them, inform them of what the seigneur might 
do for them, if he would, and hint at the nature of that gentleman's real 
employment in Paris. Jean Jacques had been famous for his talent at com- 
position in his school-days, and that talent he now employed to the utmost of 
his power, setting forth his thesis in a manner at once plain, vigorous, and 
elegant. In imitation of his great master, he christened the work, " Le 
Monitcur du Paysan." Before dawn he set forth with his sheet flapping in 
his hand, wakened Henri from a peaceful sleep, and got his friend's permis- 
sion to affix the document beside the door of the inn, where it might be seen 
by all in the morning. Then, his brain whirling with elation, our hero went 
to his mill, where he might rejoice undisturbed. Somewhere about eight 
o'clock Henri dashed in upon him with news of the most glorious descrip- 
tion. "Come on," he cried. "There's a crowd around, and the}^ want to 
know who did it ! " 

With the dust of his profession still clinging to his clothes our hero 
set forth, with his humbler friend, to observe the effect of his work. From 
afar the inn was seen to be surrounded; no fewer than twenty people stood 
around with e} r es uplifted to the work of Jean Jacques. It was a proud 
moment ! This uplifting of the eyes was rather from sympathy than purpose ; 
for most of them belonging to the old school, and being unaccomplished 
in reading, the steward's son stood in the middle of the group as interpreter. 
His own concluding words came gratefully to the ear of Jean Jacques : " Wo 
arc betrayed, friends, we are betrayed!" 

" Humph ! " cried the .steward's son, leaving interpretation to make the 
first comment, "for three sous I would pull that down, and trample it in 
the dust." The younger members of the crowd murmured at this: "Not so 
fast, Pierre, not so fast; there may be something in it." A few respectable 
farmers shook their heads meaningly, without committing themselves 
further. "True or not," said the innkeeper, "it's good advice enough; 
never believe in any one till you have good reason, say I." "But who 
wrote it?" cried another. "I'd know whom I'm to believe." "Truth's 
truth," said the innkeeper, sagely. 

At that moment the proud author drew near and proclaimed himself. 
"I wrote it, friends," he cried, "and I will vouch for every word in it. 
Think less or more of it for that, as you please." " Hoh ! 3-011 wrote it,'' 


cried the steward's son, joyfully recognizing an old rival. "If that be the 
case I'll pull it down for nothing, and that's what I think of it." At this 
our hero's henchman saw an opportunity for his lesser talents, and springing 
into the midst of the crowd he tripped the steward's son up by the heels. 
This signal for a lively scuffle warned the older members of the crowd to 
withdraw, while the younger and more valiant took sides by chance or 
choice. Vitally as the interest of our hero was concerned in this battle, he 
preferred to stand on the outskirts rather than enter into the thick of it ; 
by which I mean to cast no reflections upon his courage, for it certainly was 
not consistent with the dignity of a great man to engage in a common scuffle. 
But mightily did his heart swell to know himself the author of such a com- 
motion, — to know that at last he had aroused the sluggish tempers of his 
fellow-villagers to action. And at the conclusion of the fray, which ended 
in the defeat of the anti-Moniteurs, our hero hailed the survivors as his 
brothers, and solemnly shook them by the hand. Little did it trouble him 
now when the steward, later, pulled the placard down, and threatened Jean 
Jacques in the village street with losing his mill. The sheet had done its 
work, and Jean Jacques snapped his fingers in the face of authority. 

From that day began the fame of Jean Jacques. Little as his neigh- 
bors had formerly valued his words, he was not without a following now, 
and even those who still regarded his opinions least, were not unwilling to 
read the sheets which appeared almost daily at the inn. It may be stated 
as a truth, I think, that there is a something in genius which makes itself 
felt even with those least capable of appreciating it ; another truth as obvious 
is, that suspicion is an emotion very easily awakened in the average breast, and 
very willingly entertained there. Whichever of these great principles may 
have operated most in our hero's favor, the time had come when Jean Jacques 
knew himself a power. The influence thus obtained he scorned to use 
for his own advantage; he was content to elevate and arouse the souls of 
his humble acquaintances without seeking any further intercourse with them. 
And even at the height of his power, when his words were read and even 
quoted in the inn, our hero kept himself aloof, admitting to his intimacy onby 
the faithful Henri ; and, in spite of his popularity, a lonely soul at best. 

It will, perhaps, be wondered at that so little opposition presented it- 
self to our hero in his career. Even though such mighty changes were 


taking place in France, since we have been careful to point out the remote- 
ness of the province it may be supposed that the local seigneur had a little 
power left, and that his steward might easily have settled Jean Jacques by 
turning him out of the mill. But, as it happened, the steward was not so 
secure in the esteem of his lord, and the villagers themselves not so lacking 
in influence that he could safely venture on an unpopular measure. And, 
in the present instance, Jean Jacques had caught the ear of the mob, so that 
his deposition might very naturally be followed by the steward's own. So, 
even though Jean Jacques boldly lampooned the lord and even himself, the 
old fellow had to be content with threats and maledictions. It may also 
seem peculiar that the Abbe, the seigneur's trusted friend, should suffer his 
pupil to go on in his reckless course without preaching at him from the 
pulpit, or at least remonstrating with him. But there were some very good 
reasons for that, too ; for the Abbe was a man of so many tastes and con- 
victions that he seldom could venture on any one course with consistency. 
Preaching from the pulpit against the offender was in any case out of the 
question, since Jean Jacques scorned to enter the church, and the Abbe was 
too much a man of honor to use the privilege of his cloth to assail a man 
behind his back. And although he could not think Jean Jacques's methods 
as straightforward as his own, yet the old lover of Rousseau was too much 
in sympathy with the new spirit to be willing to rail at the only manifes- 
tation of it that had yet appealed in his little village. As far as his loyalty 
to his seigneur was concerned it grieved him, indeed, to hear his friend's 
motives impeached ; but since the lord was as ardent a revolutionist in his 
way as any of them, it would have been hard to rebuke a young man merely 
for following in his footsteps. Finally, since Abbe Paul could not go to 
Paris himself, a secret wish of his heart, he was not displeased to have a 
little Paris come to him. So with all these conflicting opinions, the utmost 
he could consistently allow himself was an occasional pastoral warning to 
the stray sheep. 

Unrestrained, then, Jean Jacques grew bolder. If he had indeed opened 
the eyes of the villagers, the achievement was of little worth so long as they 
had not been aroused to action. The news of rural uprisings came to his 
ears ; he heard of Quercy with regret and envy, and apostrophized her 
townsmen in moving terms. "What countrymen had done countrymen could 


yet do," thought Jean Jacques, longing ardently for the noble example to 
have its effect on his readers. But days went on ; the farmers went about 
their daily tasks, and the chateau was still unmobbed. Jean Jacques sighed, 
knowing too well how much more was yet to be done before his stolid hearers 
could be moved to any great deed. The only dream of his life was now 
to head his people, an acknowledged prophet, in some grand and famous deed 
of defiance to tyrants. Thus affairs stood with him at the most fortunate 
time of his career, and perhaps his untiring efforts might have aroused them 
at last, had it not been for an accident which befell. To the end of arousing 
the villagers to noble deeds he wrote a very notable paper, laying bare the 
meanness of their lives and spirits. And since it was a principle with him to 
spare no one in the cause of truth, he had insinuated that the old innkeeper 
charged too much for his wine. At this crisis Henri, the once faithful friend, 
proved himself a traitor ; he represented to Jean Jacques that the insinuation 
must be removed, or the Moniteur for that day could not go up. It went up, 
and Henri pulled it down. Whereupon, filled with righteous wrath, Jean 
Jacques called his former friend a viper, and Henri — it is shameful to write — 
knocked him flat on the ground. 

This incident, trivial as it may seem, was no less a turning point in our 
hero's career than his first reading of the "Ami du Peuple." A series of 
unhappy incidents, painful to contemplate, must now be related. After his 
quarrel with Henri, our hero marched homeward full of rage and scorn, burst 
in upon his mother and sister, and haughtily commanded that Suzette dismiss 
Henri at once. Now, naturally enough, poor Suzette, as yet ignorant of her 
lover's offense, burst into tears, and declared that she could do no such thing. 
"We have quarreled," said Jean Jacques, sternly, "and he knocked your 
brother down. You may see the dust on my coat now." "Probably it was 
your fault," whispered Suzette; "and anyway he has done nothing to me." 
Jean Jacques cast a black but patient glance at his mother ; but she only 
shook her head, and remarked, "Poor Suzette has troubles enough of her 
own without suffering for yours, and if you'd tend to your mill like an honest 
man we shouldn't have any of these to-do's." At these ungrateful* words our 
hero could hardly believe his ears or contain his wrath. "Marry your 
brother's assassin!" he cried, "the enemy to the honor of your family! 
Never!" and strode off to his mill to suffer undisturbed. 


One way alone was known to Jean Jacques of settling his public and 
private wrongs. After a long and gloomy meditation, unable to regard the 
conduct of Henri as anything but the blackest of treachery and crime, he 
penned a terrible philippic, wherein poor Henri figured as at least a Judas. 
It was an ungrateful task, but justice required it. This mighty work he 
affixed at dawn to the usual spot, and retired to the mill to meditate and 
await the consequences. 

They came, and in a form he had little expected. We have explained 
why the good Abbe had withheld his hand so long from interfering in acts 
which he could but half approve. But when the rumor of Jean Jacques's 
latest efibrt had come to his ears, and the paper, carefully preserved by the 
indignant innkeeper, was thrust before his eyes, he knew the time had come 
when he might consistently do his pastoral duty. The arraignment of a 
supposed tyrant might pass unreproved ; the public accusation of a friend 
was quite another matter. So when Jean Jacques heard a mighty clattering 
at the door of his mill, and seized a club, expecting the wrathful Henri, he 
was somewhat startled to see instead the sober, black garments and kindly 
face of the parish priest. He dropped his club, and glowered with wrath as 
the worthy man carefully sat down on a meal sack. "Jean Jacques, Jean 
Jacques," said the good priest, "what's this I hear of you?" 

"Many lies are told of me, father, no doubt," answered Jean Jacques, 
haughtily. "No lies," said the priest, firmly. "I saw the paper with. my 
own eyes wherein you call the lad who was a brother to you a Judas." " He 
struck me," said Jean Jacques, sullenly. 

And this was the excuse for a sermon from the good old man on charity, 
humility, and brotherly love, so touching that Jean Jacques was at certain 
periods himself affected by it, but so long that he hated the giver by the time 
it was over. Charity and humility were ever little to the tastes of Jean 
Jacques, and it was one of his firmest principle's that a great man could never 
be wrong. So when at the end the good priest said, "Come, Jean Jacques, 
and make it up with Henri like a good boy," our hero very properly rebelled 
at being treated so like a child, threw up his head, and cried : "Never ! He 
is my enemy, and I will not take him by the hand." 

"Take care, Jean Jacques," cried the priest, a little more warmly ; "it 
is you who are in the wrong, not he ! " 


"Sir," returned Jean Jacques, still more warmly, "did not your cloth 
protect you, I would turn you out of my mill ! " 

The Abbe stood stunned at his pupil's lack of respect ; for so little did 
he appreciate the spirit of our hero, that his anger and wonder at being so 
defied could scarcely be contained. "You are an ungrateful wretch! "he 
cried. "If I had known you would have come to this, I had never troubled 
to teach you the little you know. I am punished for my presumption. You 
are unworthy of the name you bear ! You have not scrupled to insult me, 
but my parishioners love me, Jean Jacques ; I shall see that you are checked 
in this madness of yours." 

" So ! " cried Jean Jacques. 

The priest opened his mouth twice, shook his head, and withdrew, 
mumbling to himself. Jean Jacques, left alone, was almost mad with wrath. 
He, a prophet, a hero, to be sermonized by a priest, a canting priest, like a 
whinning schoolboy ! He reproached himself for the scruple which had pre- 
vented him from assailing the church in his Moniteur, and planned, as well 
as he could for rage, a ferocious attack upon priests and all their works. 

But Jean Jacques never had an opportunity to deliver his opinion on the 
tyranny of the church. He was to learn how little a man gains who builds 
upon the favor of the mob, how little his people cared for liberty, and how 
much for the tyrant. A terrible thumping on the door of the mill made his 
heart beat; angry voices called for Jean Jacques; half a dozen of his 
former friends swarmed in, and dragged him from his fortress. The people 
he should have led had become the tools of a priest. What next occurred is 
too shameful to be believed : the coarse, ungrateful boors dragged their 
prophet, their hero, to the nearest pond, a vile and muddy hole, and there 
ducked him thrice. 

In this melancholy fashion ended the career of a man who might have 
been an ornament of his age. He departed that night for Paris, to be sure, 
and lived thei'e through many glorious achievements. But his day of useful- 
ness was over, and never again was the name of Jean Jacques Remy known to 
fame. Scorn and failure he might have survived, but the cruel ducking had 
quenched his spirit forever. He who might have been mourned by a nation, 
died in obscurity, merely because his genius flowered among people incapable 
of appreciating .its worth. Edith Okr, '98. 



Sleep, I bid thee come 
And chase the shades 
Of day far from my eyes ! 
That I may sleep 
And wake again, 
In glad surprise 
At this world's fairness 
And at her loveliness. 

I do not bid thee 
Take me in thy arms, 
And keep me there fore'er. 
But hold me close 
For one short hour, 
That I may rise 
Again, and do the work 
That wisdom bids me do. 

Jeannette A. Marks, '99. 

Just to bury my face in the green, 
By the crickets, the grasshoppers only be seen ; 
To forget the clamoring face of the crowd ; 
To forget in the silence the voices so loud. 

To be chirruped to sleep 
By the crickets wee ; 

To be hushed by the sound 
Of the surging sea. 
Chirrup, chirrup, voiceless glee ! 
Hush, hush, the sound of the sea ! 
Crickets and ocean are singing; to me. 

Jeannette A. Marks, '99. 



Some years ago there lived in Elkdale, a small farming town of north- 
eastern Pennsylvania, the Elder Eliphaz Hopkins ; a man whose defects were 
as prominent as his piety, although for nearly half a century he had been 
famed for that gentle and unruffled spirit which had successfully withstood 
the trials of rearing seven children and of holding together a disinterested 
village church ; yet at the end of his forty-seventh year he created much 
astonishment by falling into a violent fit of anger, — and that was on the occa- 
sion when Arthur Shelton asked for the hand of his daughter Ruth. 

" Sir," cried he in amazement, sitting bolt upright and striking his 
hands vigorously on the arms of the chair, "sir, what do you mean?" 

The young man timidly repeated his request. 

" Sir," roared the enraged and indignant parent, jumping up and stamp- 
ing his feet, "do you suppose for an instant that I would allow my daugh- 
ter to marry one of your craft — an ungodly, dishonest lawyer? Why, I would 
but unite a Beelzebub to a seraphim. Believe me," he continued, with with- 
ering scorn, "I have too much respect for my own calling, and too much 
regard for my daughter's welfare, to dream of sanctioning such an absurd- 
ity. Go, follow in the footprints of Satan, if you will, but leave my daugh- 
ter in the straight and narrow path she has always trodden." 

Without further remarks Arthur Shelton turned and quietly left the 
house, somewhat dejected, to be sure, but, on the whole, bearing up as well 
as circumstances would permit ; while Elder Hopkins marched with swift, 
decided steps to the next room, where Ruth sat patiently awaiting the 
result of the interview. "Ruth," said he, folding his arms before him and 
looking down upon her with a half authoritative and half affectionate air, 
" I have just spoken so positively to Arthur Shelton that he will never 
come here again. I hope you will agree with me in this matter. See that 
you have no communication with him whatever." 

Ruth rocked gently back and forth in her chair, and gazed out of the 

"Now, don't fret about it, Ruth," he continued; "you couldn't think 
of marrying such a man : he doesn't believe in election, predestination, 
foreordination, or any other sound doctrine, — he as much as told me so." 


"What difference does it make?" Ruth asked as defiantly as she 

"Ruth, Ruth, hush, hush, my child. What is this I hear! " said her 
father, seating himself before her, and taking out of his pocket a small Bible. 
"Am I," he continued, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees 
and opening the book, " after devoting so many hours of my time to your 
instruction, to be thus ungratefully rewarded? Listen to these words, and 
then decide whether any one can dispute sound doctrines or not." Then, 
in clear, distinct tones, as if delivering a sermon, he read several verses of 
that hard-worked code of Presbyterian faith, the eighth chapter of Romans. 

"Now," said he, closing the book with a bang, " is my doctrine right, 
or is it wrong? " 

Ruth bowed her head in a meditative fashion. 

"Is it right, or is it wrong, I say?" he questioned, with some impa- 

" I presume — right." . 

"Then, remarked Mr. Hopkins, in a conclusive tone of voice, emphati- 
cally rapping the Bible with the forefinger of his right hand, " by your own 
confession you see how impossible it is for you to have anything to do with 
Mr. Shelton, since he is not only a lawyer, but also a skeptic." 

So the matter ended ; and in a few days even the unpleasantness was 
apparently forgotten. Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins on several occasions rejoiced 
extravagantly, and patted each other on the back, so to speak, because in 
Ruth's case, at least, a thoroughly rigorous training had not been unsuccess- 
ful ; and if Ruth ever grieved over her father's obstinacy, her apparent light- 
heartedness and good humor failed to indicate it. 

Some three years after the above events tremendous excitement was 
aroused throughout Elkdale by the arrival of a minister of the evangelistic 
school, who preached in glowing terms of the speedy destruction of the town 
at the hands of an offended Deity. "Yet forty days," he cried, in the 
words of the Prophet, "and Elkdale shall be overthrown. Therefore 
arise, repent, prepare yourselves to meet your kindred in that far-off, 
shadowy land. For, unless you obey the biddings of your Creator, eternal 


death will be your punishment. And would you die eternally? Would 
you be burned and tortured with fire and brimstone for ever and aye ? If 
not, arise, repent, prepare yourselves to leave this world and enter into the 
glories of an immortal life." 

Although in the beginning all the inhabitants of Elkdale attended, to a 
man, the discourses of the evangelist, yet it must be said to their credit that 
only a small minority regarded the anathemas of the preacher in any other 
light than as the effusions of a crazed and fanatical mind ; but this minority, 
among whom was Elder Hopkins, considered the man inspired, and listened 
night after night to his ravings with expressions of sympathy and respect 
upon their faces. Such being the case, it is not difficult to see how hard 
,and fast lines soon came to be drawn between the irreverent majority and the 
reverent minority ; or how, after hearing ten or eleven stirring sermons of 
the evangelist's the majority, no longer willing even to grace the meetings 
with their presence, would withdraw, leaving behind them a poor deluded 
handful to be as devout and pious as they wished by themselves ; or how, as 
the influence of the minister over his hearers increased, the minority would 
come to look upon themselves as the only sane beings in Elkdale, and would 
conclude that their honesty, their self-respect, their salvation demanded that 
they retire from the scornful disbelievers to a place w T here they could await 
with humility and veneration the last day. In point of fact, this was the 
exact course of events ; and on the twenty-ninth day of the evangelist's 
stay in the town, Elder Eliphaz Hopkins, the leader and director of the new 
movement, called a meeting of the minority, in which he laid before those 
present a plan of withdrawing on the next day away from the jibes and 
scornful glances of the skeptical element of the town. "My dear friends 
and parishioners," said he, "the messenger of Jehovah has commanded that 
we sanctify ourselves in preparation for the last day ; and foolish would it 
be for us to disobey the mandates of Divinity. Let us, then, make ready 
to retire to-morrow to Elk Mountain, whose extreme height and difficult 
ascent will render us safe from our ungodly townsmen, and permit us to bow 
down and worship in peace." The men nodded assent, and soon began to 
disperse quietly to their several homes. 

Eliphaz Hopkins walked slowly and meditatively homeward, with his 
hands behind his back and his eyes upon the ground. Upon reaching the 


house he quietly entered, and notwithstanding his elevated thoughts was 
pleased to find supper prepared. After seating himself at the head of the 
table and calmly surveying his wife and seven children, already gathered 
about the board, he solemnly announced to them his plans for the morrow. 
"Mr. Hopkins," said his wife in astonishment, with a teapot skillfully poised 
in one hand and a teacup in the other, "do you know what you are about? 
If you would stop to think, I am sure you would see how deluded and 
absurd you are." 

"Mrs. Hopkins," replied her husband, with a dignified bow, "I am 
fully aware of my intentions, and as a minister of the gospel must insist 
that my family be present with me to-morrow." 

Mrs. Hopkins meekly proceeded to pour the tea. Six of the children 
howled outright in terror at approaching death ; while Ruth displayed some 
spirit, and positively refused to be a pai*ty to any such nonsense. But, after 
being subjected to a lengthy dissertation from her father, she tearfully 
admitted that in all probability her life would last but one day longer. 
"Now," said Mr. Hopkins, at the conclusion of the meal, addressing the 
table collectively, "go and prepare yourselves to pass beyond to-morrow." 

The extensive and melancholy preparations of Mrs. Hopkins and the 
howls and tears of the younger children have no immediate concern with 
this tale; but it being customary to describe with exactness the thoughts 
and deeds of a heroine on the last night of her existence, to recount Ruth's 
manner of spending the evening will be both fitting and necessary. For 
an hour or more after hearing her father's command she paced up and down 
the room, sometimes in tears, sometimes in anger. Finally, throwing a 
shawl over her head, she stepped outside, intending to take a walk in the 
hope that the night air would soothe her rurHed spirits. In the course of 
her walk she found herself near the village post office. Perhaps some 
regard for her lover still remained ; perhaps she thought that it would be a 
relief to formally renunciate all earthly considerations. At any rate she 
suddenly decided to write to Arthur Shelton. Entering the building she 
took a pen and hastily scribbled a note, saying that, all hough for the last 
three years she had never disobeyed her father's injunctions, yet she felt 
justified, under the circumstances, to inform him that by this time to-morrow 
she would he no longer in the land of the living; that she would die or be 


otherwise disposed of on the following day at Elk Mountain ; and she presumed 
that her father could not object to her taking this opportunity of saying 
good-by. When after two or three hours Ruth returned home, she found 
her father conducting prayers, with his family grouped about him ; while 
the house seemed filled with an atmosphere of resignation and melancholy. 

At dawn the following day the band of expectant people set forward 
upon their exodus from Elkdale. At the head of the procession marched, 
with slow and solemn tread, the Elder Eliphaz Hopkins and the evangelist ; 
next to whom trudged Mrs. Hopkins and Ruth, walking as if each step were 
one nearer the top of a scaffold. These were followed by the six remaining 
children, arranged in twos, who, although they occasionally rent the air with 
shrieks, were for the most part awed into submission and silence by the op- 
pressive solemnity. Behind the members of the elder's family filed along 
the confederates in the evangelist's cause, determined to preserve a fitting 
gravity and seriousness. They made their way slowly and solemnly through 
the streets, unmindful of the curious eyes of the non-deluded inhabitants of 
Elkdale, and silently and impressively climbed the mountain. Upon reach- 
ing the top a place was chosen for occupation from which they could see the 
country for miles around, and thus enable themselves to be forewarned when 
the last awful moment arrived. Elder Hopkins having commanded the 
people to seat themselves on the ground, proceeded to strengthen their 
spirits by giving a lengthy discourse upon the advantages of this world as 
compared with those of the next. " ' O death, where is thy sting? O grave, 
where is thy victory?'" said he in conclusion. " 'Blessed are they that do 
his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may 
enter in through the gates into the city.'" At the end of the elder's exhorta- 
tion the evangelist began a revivalist meeting on a small scale, in which he 
himself sang, and shouted, and prayed, and urged the company to do the 
same ; experiences were given by most of those present, tears fell profusely, 
and repentance was expressed with much religious zeal and fervor. 

This piety and devotion, however, was destined to be unduly inter- 
rupted. Toward four o'clock in the afternoon the company began to re- 
alize that a thunderstorm was approaching, which threatened to be even more 
severe than is customary for that region. And as the clouds began to 
assume the terrifying aspects peculiar to such seasons, and as the lightning 


could be seen flashing in the distance, and heavy claps of thunder heard, a 
panic seemed about to ensue throughout the body. The women shrieked 
and wept, while even the men looked grave. Elder Hopkins stood up and 
assured the stricken assembly that such an occurrence was only inaugurating 
the end of the world. " For," said he, " are not the greatest events accom- 
panied by phenomena of nature ! When Moses received the Ten Command- 
ments did not thunders and lightnings, and clouds, and smoke cause trembling 
among the people? And, again, in later history, when the King of kings 
left this world, did not darkness cover the earth, and was not the veil of the 
temple rent in twain? Think rather of your souls, foolish ones ! Pray ; pre- 
pare yourselves for the end of all earthly trials and for the beginning of 
heavenly bliss." All but Elder Hopkins with one accord fell upon their 
knees, while the evangelist shrieked for the Great Redeemer to come now, 
come now and take them to himself, to rest on the bosom of Abraham and 
be at peace with the saints. More and more violent grew the storm ; the 
lightning more blinding; the thunder more deafening. Mrs. Hopkins 
barely escaped being crushed by a tree falling at her side. Finally, how- 
ever, owing to the exertions of Elder Hopkins, who stood up and endeav- 
ored to soothe his terrified flock, the band became calmer. All were bowed 
upon their knees listening to the elder's words, resigned and silently 
awaiting the coming end. Of a sudden, from out the shrubbery near by 
there stepped a man, who, having observed the postures of the crowd, 
quickly hastened up to Ruth Hopkins and called her by name. Ruth, in 
her agitation, thinking that she heard a divine voice, and that she was to be 
the first of the Dumber to be taken, leaped up, wildly shrieking in a terrified 
voice, "Father, I'm going." Elder Hopkins quickly dropped upon his 
knees, and clasping his hands, looked heavenward, murmuring, "Thy will 
1)0 done;" and as a sudden flash of lightning dazzled his eyes, he stretched 
out his arms and cried, " My father, my father, the chariot of Israel and the 
horseman thereof! " 

All this happened years ago, as has been said; now nothing remains of 
the people who made that memorable expedition to Elk Mountain except the 
tradition which generation hands down to generation. The story goes, that 
upon the return of the company to Elkdale, the evangelist immediately left 
the town where he had gained so many converts; while Elder Hopkins and 


his followers soon dropped back again into their old familiar routines, with 
never a thought of approaching death to disturb their minds. But with 
regard to Ruth the tales disagree, and consequently it is a little difficult to 
arrive at any wholly satisfactory conclusion as to the manner of her disap- 
pearance. One tradition, which is believed by the representatives of the old 
skeptical element of the town, says that a farmer, who some two or three 
years after Ruth's disappearance had occasion to visit a neighboring city, 
met a woman who, although her dress and bearing indicated great wealth, was 
the exact counterpart of Ruth Hopkins, and who blushed and bowed when 
the farmer nodded to her. Another tradition, which is believed by the rep- 
resentatives of the evangelist's party, says that when that last blinding flash 
of lightning blazed in the sky, several people, including Elder Hopkins him- 
self, saw Ruth being borne swiftly through the air, clad in a flowing robe of 
white, with arms outstretched and an expression of heavenly rapture upon 
her face. 

Pauline M. Pitcher, '98. 


It was an ideal apple tree. Not that the apples themselves justified 
such a statement, — in fact, nobody knew just what kind of apples they were 
anyway, — but a tree which could grow into such an entrancing shape had al- 
ready fulfilled its function in life without bearing fruit of any kind. Its 
main trunk was short, dividing so that the first crotch came within easy reach 
of diminutive limbs, and then extending out, and up, and around, without the 
most remote approach to symmetry, but with such stairways, and cubby holes, 
and palaces in the air that one loved it at first sight. Just now its appearance 
puzzled the hens in the yard greatly. One by one with slow, deliberative 
step they came to its foot, cocked their several heads on one side, raised one 
claw in a meditative fashion and gazed upward. They were used to the sight 
of knickerbockers and striped stockings among the green leaves ; even broad- 
brimmed hats and pigtails w r ere no novelty. To the hen mind this was an 
abnormal kind of fruit which the apple tree was inclined to produce. But 
there was something uncanny about the slender white line running in and out 


among the limbs and twigs of the tree ; and see, at either end was a shining 
round thing which emitted a noise most distressing to feathered nerves. 
With a croak of disapproval each hen put down her claw and hastened away 
to report the news to her cronies of the barnyard. 

As the last fowl disappeared around the corner of the barn, one tin can 
was lowered from before a very red face, and its owner, seated in the north 
corner of the tree, remarked in a grieved tone : "I say, Jim, that's no fair ! 
You holler so loud into the telephone that it just makes an awful noise, and 
I can't hear anything ! " 

" Of course you can't," Jim returned from the south corner of the tree ; 
"you keep the can at your mouth all the time instead of putting it up to 
your ear. You must change when I'm talking to you. Hurry up, for I've 
got something awful important to say." 

Thus rebuked, Ernest adjusted his tin can and received the following 
message: "Hullo, there; will you meet me at my office (that's over here, 
you know) at three o'clock. Your obedient servant, James Clark." 

" All right," was the reply ; and Ernest hung up his tin can in a conven- 
ient crotch, scrambled down from his seat, and, — pardon me! Mr. Ernest 
Williams left the telephone, went from his office, traversed the length of 
Wall Street, and was soon with his friend, Mr. James Clark. 

" Say, Ernie," that gentleman began as Ernest seated himself in an arm- 
chair made by two delightful curves in the tree limbs, " we must have a club ; 
all gentlemen do." 

" They don't neither," said Ernest, indignantly. " My father's a gen- 
tleman, and he only has a cane." 

A magnificent look of scorn caused Ernest to wriggle uncomfortably in 
his seat until a sharp sound brought an anxious look to his face. " The sec- 
ond pair of trousers in a week," he mournfully remarked, risking a tumble 
from his perch in a vain endeavor to get a view of the rent. 

" I'm not mentioning policemen,'" Jim went on grandly, disregarding 
the interruption; "I refer entirely to a society, a secret society, Ernie," 
dropping his haughty air and leaning eagerly forward. " I don't know as 
that is just what a club is, but we can pretend so anyway." 

"But say, what's the use of having another one," objected Ernest, his 
temper a little ruffled by his mishap; " we b'long to five already." 


" O, never mind," Jim went on serenely; " this one is just for us two, 
you know, — no girls anyway," with a stern look at Ernest. 

" Course not," he said promptly, though with a shamefaced expression. 
"Well, what's it for?" 

Jim left the floor to Mr. Clark, who proceeded, — 

"This society, gentlemen, is to be called, 'The Society for the Ad- 
vancement of Morals (I got that out of a book) , and its aim " 

" What's morals, anyway? That doesn't sound a bit good." 

"Morals! don't you know what morals are, Ernest Williams? Well, 
it's time this society was formed. Why, morals are — are manners — behav- 
ior, you know. 

"Jiminy crickets!" — this from the disgusted Mr. Williams, — "I get 
enough of them at home. I'm not going to play." 

" Well, you can't be a gentleman on Wall Street and belong to a club, 
then. They all have morals, and we're going to have some too. They have 
a clubhouse, too, and this tree's going to be the clubhouse of this society ; so 
if you don't want to belong to the society you can just get out." 

" I guess I won't until I've a mind to," Ernest retorted, growing redder 
inthe face than ever. "This tree is mine just as much as it is yours, so 

" O well, never mind," Jim said pacifyingly, secretly much alarmed 
about the threatened overthrow of his plan. " Come along, Ernie ; you can 
make the first ride." 

Ernest promptly snapped at this tempting bait. 

" All right," he said ; "the first rule will be — er — ' Never be a bachelor,' " 
he finished triumphantly. 

" I don't know whether that's morals or not," Jim said doubtfully. 

" It's good manners, anyway," Ernest declared, " for all gentlemen are 
married, and you said morals were manners." 

" Well, we'll let it stand," Jim said. " Now it's my turn. The second 
rule will be, ' Never drink wine.' There's a verse in the Bible about drink- 
ing wine, and our Sunday-school teacher says it's true. It's about a snake." 

" She says we mustn't drink other things, too," said Ernest. " We'll 
have to make another rule about them. I'll have it for my second one, 
1 never drink liquor.' " 


" All right, then ; and the third will be, 'Never smoke tobacco.' That's 
another thing she tells us not to do." 

" But say, Jim, this isn't a Sunday-school class ; it's a club. It sounds 
just like Miss Prince, now." 

"O well, that doesn't matter. They're all morals, and that's what we 
want. It's your turn to make another." 

" I can't think of any more," Ernest said, scowling meditatively at the 
whitewashed fence near by. 

" O yes you can. Morals means not lying, or stealing, or swearing, 
you know." 

"But who wants to? I never tell 1 — O say, does it mean white lies?" 

" Of course," Jim said firmly ; " lies aren't any color, and if you tell a 
little one, it's as bad as a big one." 

" Well, let's put it in then," said Ernest, " ' Never tell lies.' But say, 
we must write them down or we'll forget 'em." 

" That's so ; I've a pencil in my pocket. Have you any paper?" 

After much search a grimy scrap from a fly leaf of some book was pro- 
duced, and Jim began, working his tongue sympathetically from side to side 
as his fingers moved over the paper. 

"Rools for the society For The Advancement of Morrals. 

"Never be a batchelor. 

"Never drink Wine. 

"Never drink Licker. 

"Never Srnok tobakko " 

A paling in the fence was pushed one side, and through the opening 
squeezed a fat little body adorned by a big sunbonnet. Its owner looked 
vainly about the quiet yard, and then lifted up her voice, — " Scrub one ! " 

The two heads over the paper just above knocked together in their 
eagerness as both shouted, " Scrub two ! " 

"I said it first!" 

" No you didn't neither ! I did, didn't I, Maisie?" 

The maiden thus addressed looked up with a suspicious eye. "What 
are you two doing up there with that paper and pencil ? " 

Each looked consciously at the other. " 0, nothing," said Jim, as he 
hastened to scrawl the last rule, " Never tell lyes." 


"Yes you are too. You're making another society. What's its 
name? I'm going to join." 

Jim gasped. The unerring directness of this small damsel was some- 
times appalling. Ernest came nobly to the fore, and fired his biggest gun. 

"Yes, 'tis a society, but it's one girls can't belong to. Girls are no use 
to this one." 

The enemy was evidently staggered, but she stood her ground and re- 
turned a shot. 

" I'll remember that when you ask me to make sails for your ships, and 
put court-plaster on your fingers. Girls are some use, and if you can belong 
to that society, I can." 

Ernest commenced to backdown. " I didn't say they were no use at 
all. I just said they were no use to this society." 

" Truly, Maisie, this society wasn't meant for girls at all," put in Jim. 
"You couldn't belong to it, for you couldn't do anything to keep the rules, 
as you never break them ; and to keep a rule you have to break it once in a 
while." Jim stopped, inwardly aghast at the lengths to which his wild rea- 
soning' had led him. Maisie still looked doubtful. 

" Scrub two," shouted Ernest, again anxious to put an end to the discus- 
sion, and scrambling down from his perch. 

"Yes, let's play scrub," said Jim, following more slowly. "There 
come Tom and Walter." 

Two more heads appeared through the paling, as though Ernest's shout 
had been the summons of a magician. 

" Maisie, dear, I want you a moment," came from the 'house the other 
side of the fence. 

" Oh dear, I've got to go ! " she said. " There are enough without me ; 
you go and play." 

She disappeared through the opening, and the boys raced to the play- 
ground. The tree was left alone in the orchard. Even the hens had 2:one. 
Up among the branches the sun's rays were flashed back from the telephone 
in Mr. Clark's office. That tin can seemed to be positively scintillating with 
laughter as though at some joke which it had all to itself. One or two birds 
drew near and pecked at it viciously for not sharing its secret with them, 
but it only flashed the brighter and kept silent. 


By and by the sunbonnet again appeared. It stopped, then crept through 
the fence, and Maisie looked around. No one was in sight. She could hear 
faintly the shouts of the boys at play. " Mean old things," she said. She 
looked up. The tree was invitingly cool and comfortable. Slowly she 
climbed up until she sat in the office where the club rules originated. She 
leaned back with a pensively comfortable sigh, and meditatively swung her 

"They said I couldn't b'long to their old society, because the rules 
didn't apply to girls. I just wish they were in Crusoe's Island, where there 
weren't any girls, only cannibals. No, I don't either, for then there wouldn't 
be any boys here. Oh dear ! " 

Her eye fell on the can. " Their old telephone isn't any good anyway. 
You can hear lots better without it." She reached out her hand, neverthe- 
less, and took it down. A paper fell into her lap. Unsuspectingly she took 
it up and began to read. Her eyes brightened ; then she shut them up tight. 

"I hadn't ought to read it," she said ; "it's their rules ! " For a moment 
she wavered. Then with eyes still tightly shut she felt around for the can, 
put the paper back, and clambered down. She walked slowly toward the 
playground. A sudden thought seemed to strike her. She stopped short 
and gazed rapturously at a robin pecking at cherries in a tree near by. He 
resented this attention, thinking it a reproach, and with a spiteful flirt of his 
tail flew away. She started on the run toward the sound of the boys' voices. 
Jim and Ernest were seated on the "round cracking butternuts. The other 
boya had gone. 

"Have some, Maisie," said Jim, affably, offering her a handful of the rich 

" No thank you," she replied, waving them aside with an important 
air. "Didn't you boys say that girls had nothing to do with your 

"What rules?" Jim asked; then remembering, "Yes, I said so, and 
it's true. Don't be horrid, Maisie ; you can't b'long anyway." 

"I don't want to b'long," scornfully; but listen. Do you mean that 
girls can't help you keep them ? " 

"'Course," Ernest replied. "Girls don't know anything about such 
filings anyway." 


"May be not," Maisie said impressively ; " May be not. By a naxident, 
a naxident only, I saw your first rule. Prob'ly the others are like them. I 
shouldn't be s'prised. Tell me this, — how can you never be a bachelor if 
you don't get married?" 

" Why, we're going to get married," said Jim, falling into the trap. 

"How can you get married if you don't marry a girl? Did you say 
that girls had nothing to do with your rules ? Hm-m ! " 

Maisie walked proudly away. There was a significant silence, broken 
only by a long " cut-cut-cut-ca-da-cut " from the henyard. Each boy looked 
the other way. 

" Say, Ernie," said Jim, rising and brushing the shells carefully from his 
trousers, " let's go hunt hen's eggs." 

Margaret Bell Merrill, '99. 


I suppose that table talk in the college dining room is often very light 
and very unsatisfying to the great majority, — the girls of deep thought, and 
rich and varied experience. How uninteresting to such cultured spirits the 
easy chit-chat of the evening meal must of necessity be ! A certain fresh- 
man in College Hall has the keen sympathy and agreement of all intellec- 
tual minds. She remarked hopelessly the other day that her table never 
talked anything but " small talk." It surely cannot be that we, as a whole, 
must share with society girls the reproach of being frivolous. Let us come 
forth in the full splendor of our conversational powers, and give to this wis- 
dom-thirsty freshman and her classmates choice critical appreciations, 
delightfully intricate philosophical arguments, and reminiscent bits from our 
forensics on vivisection. Let us show our possibilities in the way of judi- 
cious criticism and caustic satire, but let us take the warning of the autocrat,, 
and beware of the pun as savoring of insulting lightness. We might even 
found a Society for the Promotion of Conversational Ability, were not the 
combination S. P. C. A. fatally suggestive of other ideas. 

If I only knew that freshman's identity I would ask her to dinner, that 
she might enjoy a refreshing change in mental and moral atmosphere at our 


table. The other night we had a pleasing discourse of a literary and ethical 
turn. The junior began it. She came down fairly running over with her 
theme, and immediately opened fire on her neighbor. 

" We had John Hey wood in class to-day, — the old dramatist, you know. 
Everyone had to write an imaginative paragraph with the local color of the 
sixteenth century and Mary's court, and some of them were the oddest bits. 
Poor old John! The first girl met him on a London street — tall, thin, 
angular, scholarly visaged ; the second saw him as a dapper little figure in 
blue and buff skipping about her Majesty's drawing room with an anxious 
air; for the third he was a big, bluff, hearty man, 'full of music, and an 
occasional dance.' But, finally, when we were tired of laughing at all this 
contradictory evidence, one '99 waked up the class with the astonishing state- 
ment, 'I never met John Heywood in the flesh.' Original, wasn't it? 
And so was her ending. With real artistic disregard of fact and reason, she 
made her shadow, Heywood, vanish shrieking : ' I never lived. I'm a 
myth. Bacon wrote me.'" 

The senior smiled indulgently. " Funny things do happen in literature 
sometimes," she said. " To-day I heard Thackeray's humor analyzed on a 
new basis. This girl had three divisions : humorous ; more humorous ; less 
humorous. To me that classification shows an appreciative mind." 

"Oh," struck in our irrepressible sophomore, "did you know why Miss 
W always talks now about the Helmholz- Young Theory?" 

The senior, with ati affinity for books, looked irritated and a trifle 
puzzled at the interruption. 

"Philosophy VII., you know," prompted the junior, with a covert smile 
at the senior's bewilderment. But the sophomore went on, regardless of an 
unappreciative audience: "She used to call it the Young-Helmholz Theory 
until she was asked in class one clay who old Helmholz was. Isn't that a case 
of colossal ignorance? It was a '99, too, who " 

The faculty at the table was looking careworn. "Miss W has my 

sympathies," she said, with a patient sigh. "I had a rather trying experience 
myself to-day, wdiich made me consider seriously the necessity of offering new 
courses in Hebrew History. I was lecturing on Agnosticism, and I thought 
it would make a pleasant change to quiz the class a little. It was near the 
end of the hour, so, knowing the girls were tired, I chose a very simple subject 


in connection with religious faith. Indeed, the question was so simple that it 
seemed hardly worth while to ask it. Yet, will you believe that not a girl 
replied? They sat in desperate silence; one or two looked reproachful, as 
if to say, 'Why, we haven't had that;' some were puzzled, and searched 
rapidly for a clue through their back notes. But no one knew, and they 
were all seniors." 

"But what was the question?" asked the table in unison, while the senior 
opposite blushed a guilty red. 

"The question — I wonder if any of you could answer it — was this, 
'Who, according to Hebrew belief, created the world?'" 



Last year an able article on the need of a new library building for 
the College appeared in the editorial columns of the Magazine. Lately 
there has been some discussion as to the possibility of using the old chapel 
as an accessory reading room, to relieve the pressure on the library, when 
our new building opposite Music Hall is ready for use. But as the Hough- 
ton Memorial Chapel is to be used only for religious and strictly academic 
purposes, there would still be need of a hall for concerts, singing classes, 
mass meetings, and other large gatherings. It would, therefore, be hardly 
practicable to turn the present chapel into a reading room. Instead, how- 
ever, of going very deeply just now into the subject of our needs, we wish 
to show the Thanksgiving spirit appropriate to November by reflecting on 
our benefits. First and foremost, we have the prospect of getting many 
more new books this year. Since the endowment of the library, the Hors- 
ford fund has been used to renew magazine subscriptions, pay binding and 
repair bills and the librarians' salaries, so that there has been from this 
fund practically no money for the purchase of new books. For the future 
it is hoped that the Horsford income may be also devoted to buying books, 
as the salaries are now to be paid by the College. In addition, the Ger- 
trude Library has yearly gifts amounting to $200 or more for works of ref- 
erence on Biblical subjects. Meanwhile, the great need for general refer- 
ence books has been partly met by the students. Last year one girl gave 
$75 to the library, the class in Constitutional History gave $5, the Class of 
'97, $85, and for three years it has been an established custom for each 
Magazine Board to give $200. Besides these donations there have been, 
•of course, occasional gifts of precious, because much-needed, volumes from 
individuals and classes. It is hardly necessary to say that the efforts and 
interest of the girls are a most hopeful sign of what the library really 
means to the College. It is by far the most necessary adjunct of our work, 
and the real nursery of our intellectual life. That our nursery should be 
close and cramped we much regret, but we cannot restrain a certain glow 
of satisfaction in remembering that, in spite of its many limitations, the 
library means enough to the girls to call out evidence of practical interest 
in its behalf. 



When a girl comes out of the nursery, or, in other words, casts herself 
on the rough world under the protecting shield of her degree, she generally 
looks about her for work to do. To most college girls their intellectual 
pursuits form so far the predominating element of their lives that the pos- 
sibility of an unintellectual career fills them with horror. Many armed with 
that impressive B.A. descend upon degenerate society as teachers ; a few 
are ambitious for advanced study in law, medicine, or literature ; a handful 
strike out in unbeaten paths. This last is what has been done by two very 
resolute and independent Smith graduates. One of them spent some time 
in England in specialized study on fine laundry work, attending inspiring 
lectures on the possibilities of starch and bluing. Then she came home, 
and with a friend full of enthusiasm . for the new idea started a laundry in 
Brookline. The two have an efficient corps of assistants, and for the most 
part only direct and superintend the work. The patrons are generally 
wealthy families, who can afford to have dainty articles daintily done. 
Needless to say, the young experimenters show that their keen wits for 
management and finance are not damaged by college training; so far their 
prosperity has been really remarkable. The undoubted success of this novel 
scheme makes one regret the scarcity of like attempts in original and 
practical lines. When a college girl has no decided talents of a literary or 
pedagogical order, it would be wiser for her to follow her natural bent, rather 
than force herself to uncongenial work for the sake of her intellectual life. 
If her bent is domestic, let her do cooking, washing, or ironing, — not neces- 
sarily on a small scale, — provided that she can do them well. We all have 
such a comfortably hopeless way of pleading to a lack of talents, but per- 
haps it is, after all, more a lack of zest in hunting for talents. There are so 
many small occupations that a college-bred girl could fill to better advantage 
than her untrained sister, just because she has been trained to plan and 
reason. Then, too, she could find more satisfaction in doing a small thing 
well than in making a botch of a large attempt. At any rate, no college 
girl who believes that the dignity of work does not lie primarily in the 
nature of the work, will scorn the suggestion that these Smith graduates 
have given to fellow-students. 



Is it true that the wheel has taken the place of the old " shank's 
mare," and that the five-mile ride squeezed into a period has cast a shadow 
over the brisk walk of twice that time? We heartily rejoice in the increase 
of exercise which the bicycle fad has made almost habitual, and realize the 
gain to girls who would otherwise have tasted but mincingly of the joys of 
the road. But we protest against the disuse of the true pedal. That it is 
always on hand — or on foot — that it requires no one of the necessary prepa- 
rations for a wheel, render it, like all our common blessings, more or less 
valueless from the standpoint of the uncommon. That it is in use more 
or less of the day, and should therefore give way to other forms of exer- 
cise, is a consideration with some of us. That its use requires more exer- 
cise than riding or driving, or wheeling, is a consideration with most of us. 
But all such we waive aside. It is the end, not the means, which is to be 
considered. If a wheel or a horse allowed us the same amount of freedom, 
there might be some question as to the rank of walking among the pleasure- 
able exercises. But in no other state may body and mind be so absolutely, 
so luxuriously free, as during a tramp across country. No working of the 
machinery is to be considered, no particular course need be followed, no 
conventional proprieties need be observed. There is nothing like it ; and 
that many of us know, for we have never tried it. 

And we are in the midst of such a network of beautiful roads, within 
easy reach of so many places we have always, and will always, want to see. 
Even our immediate surroundings are enticing enough to lure more of us 
from the heat and rush of college life. Most of us have stretched our legs 
to Baker's Gardens, — some point in that, we hear, — or ambled with the 
stream across to the aqueduct, or wandered comfortably around the lake ; 
but, rise ye and droop the head, who cannot confess to the thrill of Pegan, 
who have not emulated the iron horse, and pranced nobly on your own 
steed into Boston, or passed the best part of an extra day on the thou- 
sand and one crossroads in between. Or is it at that extra day that the 
pinch comes? No one of us, from the critic of freshman themes to the snap 
course girl, dare assert that half a thought for time planning would not 
leave her with the world in her hand, 'and all the leisure in it to explore it. 


No, we cannot sympathize on that score, though our compassion for her 
warped nature is as the widow's cruse of oil, and if it had any efficacy how 
willingly would we administer it. 

If, on the other hand, the ground plan of this section of country is 
too well known to bear further inspection, let us call to the attention 
of all a guide whose notice appears in this issue of the Magazine. Its 
value and helpfulness could surely be put to no better use than to start 
chasing across country the sedentary, resigned young student of Wellesley. 


We are intensely interested in the manufacturing enterprise which has 
lately risen among us ; the smoke of its furnaces and the hum of its wheels 
fill the air. But we are still in doubt as to its place in the mercantile world. 
On its wall no sign is painted; its doors are closed to factory inspection, 
and as yet have not given issue to the flood of merchandise which its struc- 
ture seems to warrant. Yet we can but suppress a sigh. It has come, then, 
to this. Poetry — the divine gift of the gods, the sacred heritage of man — is 
no longer to be looked for as pearls from the mouth of the princess, but has 
become a matter of chisel and saw, hammer and tongs, clubs and* party con- 
trol. We wake to the signs of the time, and realize that co-operation and 
organization, revelation and reformation, have been at work here or else- 
where, — in a realm hitherto guided but by spontaneity and outburst of soul. 

This Poetry Club, — may we be permitted to call it? — unclassified as to 
members, unsectarian as to principle, uninviting as to reporters, merely 
marks the flow, the flood tide, of the poetic wave which sweeps this coast at 
varied intervals. It first reached its height in the Class of '80, where its four 
original members, dangerously near being incorporated as a "Society" by 
Mr. Durant, only saved themselves by timidly admitting that some study of 
"the other" poets might occupy part of their time. They thus not only 
preserved their dignity by remaining a private corporation, but gave them- 
selves a name, — "The O. P. S.," — by which, in some circles, they still are 
known. Let us hope for a no less happy result for the present party, if 
their ambition should cany them so far. 

Let it not be understood that we depreciate this attempt to determine 
<ind systematize one of the lost arts among us, or that we are, in fact, an}'- 


thing but resigned, — nay, for many reasons, both on and beneath the surface, 
theoretically appreciative. We trust that we shall have been made prac- 
tically so by the next issue of the Magazine. We can heartily applaud the 
plan of the whole, which is, we must confess it, all we know of the " Club," 
realizing that, unlike the "Lark" or " Yellow Book," of '99's sophomore 
attempt, it cannot be submerged by much council. This has its faculties 
about it, and structurally rests upon them. Its workmen are few, the human 
labor, we understand, is at a discount, the machinery everywhere being 
exquisitely adapted for the work. We predict the day when we shall point 
to it with pride as one of the characteristic institutions of the twentieth 


According to a notice given last month, the Inter-Society Rules appear 
in the current issue of the Magazine. These rules are an expression of 
mutual understanding, as well as a mutual pledge, made by the Societies to 
each other. It is hoped their publication will, perhaps, simplify the position 
of the society girl in relation to the rest of the College. At any rate, an 
open statement of her position, in so far as it is given in the Rules, is no 
more than fair to the College at large. 


A. — Invitations : — 

I. All invitations sent at the end of the year shall be sent on the morn- 
ing of Alumnae Day. During the year invitations shall be sent only on the 
first day of each month. 

II. All invitations shall be written and sent through the mail. 

III. All invitations shall be withheld from conditioned students until 
their conditions be removed. This rule shall be carried into effecl as far as 
possible in regard to the June examinations. Exceptions may be made to 
this rule by a committee of the society presidents. 

IV. Until students have replied to their invitations, the exclusive right 
of communicating with them in regard to society matters shall be reserved to 
the president of the society. 


V. No one shall be invited to join any society until she has been in 
college one semester. No freshman shall be invited to join any society until 
she has been in college two semesters. 


There shall be no pledging of girls not in societies. 

I. No change shall be made in these rules without the consent of all the 


II. All inter-society business not provided for in these rules shall be 
decided by the consent of all the societies. 


These rules shall go into effect when adopted by all the societies, and 

shall continue in effect until October 31, 1898. 


Small things make up a great part of our happiness, especially if the 
small things are repeated over and over; and we who use the elevator would 
like to say "thank you," and "thank you," and "thank you" again, for 
having brought into it, if not the light of day, a light that makes a most 
excellent substitute. The exclamations upon the woodwork that were heard 
on the first day of the electric light were a sufficient proof of how little could 
be seen in the " dark ages." The elevator is larger, airier, and moves more 
quickly — at least so it seems to those who now ride in it — than it ever was or 
did before. We are glad, too, to be able to see what we are stepping into, 
and to keep on seeing what it is until we get out, with no lingering regret at 
leaving friends behind in the gloom. It may be a little thing, but our 
gratitude to its giver is great. F. H. Rousmanieee, '99. 


If we may judge by the periodicals for the month, the college world has 
taken to the fiction habit. It w r ould be a pleasing task to record that this 
habit seemed likely to be beneficial either to the writers or to their readers. 
Unfortunately such is not the case. Its effect upon the writer can only be 
guessed, but its impression upon the reader is certainly a degree beyond 


depressing. We feel that we have a right to expect somewhat of the season's 
crispness in autumn stories, some originality of plot or expression garnered 
during the summer rest. Such expectations this month are met with the 
usual types of collegians in the usual summer situation, in love. If our 
college fiction is to be taken as true to nature, the young man and } r oung 
woman of our educational institutions have small originality in devising 
summer amusements. We venture to suggest to the man that there are 
places far from civilization where the face of woman never appears, and to the 
girl that there may possibly he secluded spots where the college man is not 
known. Let them seek these haunts. In doing so the}' will at least do what 
is never done in the college summer story. 

The Smith Monthly contains a rather long story with a musical motif, 
"Whom the Gods Destroy." Though not especially original in plot, it is 
entertainingly written. 

In the Amherst Lit. we note "The Adventures of Johnnie," an impos- 
sible story of an impossible boy, but refreshing inasmuch as Johnnie has not 
yet gone to college. In connection with another story, "The Counterfeiter," 
we would remark that it is advisable for writers to have a running idea of 
dialect and locality, before attempting to write dialect stories garnished 
with local coloring. 

The October Inlander is chiefly worth attention for a seasonable article 
on the Klondyke, and a bright little story, "Lost, a Kingdom." 

"Meredith as a Novelist," in the Nassau Lit., is especially good. The 
author is appreciative, but not overborne by the greatness of his subject. 
Speaking of Meredith's style, he says: "Meredith tortures the metaphor 
out of all seeming; you are mercilessly jerked from allusion to allusion, 
from association to association ; you arc whirled over land and sea. Yet it 
is good for your mental muscles, and you are given large sweeps of land- 
scape, though you view them with a bewildered eye. . . . And so when 
Mr. Meredith comes at loggerheads with the English language, one of them 
must be broken, and it is generally the English." His conclusion also is 
worth noting: "If George Meredith has a philosophy, il is based upon 
common sense and the normal. He has ample room, then, for the close 
study of character, and also a humor, a romance, and a beauty which do 
not stand lurid against a background of pessimism, but which remain sweet, 
fresh, and youthful." 



The Dartmouth Lit. is strong in fiction this month. "The Adventures 
of a Somnambulist" are so cleverly told that we forget the improbability of 
the situation. Unquestionably, however, the best thing in the number is 
"An Unplayed Trump," which is refreshingly well told and amusing. 

We clip the following : — 


Spendthrift poppy, so gayly pouring your petals down, 

Tearing to rags your ruffles, spoiling your scarlet gown, 

Was it so lightly given, — gift of the summer sun, — 

You tossed away the guerdon, flinging it off for fun? 

Or did the wild wind woo you, lure you with laughing love, 

Kiss you and leave you, the jester, reft of your treasure trove? 

— Mt. Eolyohe. 


The autumn had been cold and drear 

With mists, and fogs, and weeks of rain ; 

So set the scowl on Nature's brow, 
It seemed she ne'er would smile again. 

This morning she forget her frown, 

And smoothed her wrinkles one by one ; 

A little bud thought spring had come, 
And opened to the treacherous sun. 

That night the white frost killed the flower 
The sun had tempted with his wiles. 

Poor blossom ! How were you to know 
That empty are the fairest smiles? 

— Dartmouth Lit. 


All day 'neath the flaming heaven 
They toil for the day's surcease ; 

For, bowing, their bodies have given 
All a sacrifice to peace. 

They shall rest, thine the promise, but slowly 
Drift the years of the waning, ay, creep ; 

When the tenantless body lies lowly 
And useless, then cometh sleep. 



Float, float astray ; 

Waywardly over the waves I float 

In an oarless, sailless boat ; 
Yet the fading roar from the old gray shore — may it not fade away. 

High over me, 

Leaving the light of the eve to die, 

Shall be the deepening sky ; 
Yet the while I'd keep the smiling still of a gleam o'er the sea. 

I am weary of Day — 

Day with its glare, with its seething and roar — 

I am weary to-night of the shore ; 
And I'll float, through the twilight, far into a dream — but not too far away. 

— -Nassau Lit. 


The Madonna in Art, by Estelle M. Hurll. Illustrated. Boston: 
L. C. Page & Co. 1897. 

Dressed in the Virgin's symbolic colors of red and blue, ornamented 
with her floral emblem, the white lily, comes Miss Hurll's new book, " The 
Madonna in Art." 

The author's purpose is stated in her Preface and Introduction ; namely, 
to make a twofold classification of the world's great Madonnas : — 

1. According to the artists' composition and arrangement. 

2. According to the Madonna's own attitude, of affection, of adoration, 
or of witnessing for her Son. 

To that end the celebrated works of Italian and Northern schools have been 
used, and pictures of our own day are compared with those of the Greal Masters. 

From chapter to chapter there runs a thread of art history, while the 
grouping of famous works is rendered interesting by apt description, perti- 
nent incidents, and criticisms based upon most modern methods. 

Miss Hurll presents her thought simply and clearly, and has succeeded 
in the second part of her work in conveying a true notion of the artistic 
feeling expressed in the Madonnas of her selection. 

"The latest issue of the Contemporary Science Series is a work already 
published in Russian and in French, by Marie de Manaceine, entitled. Sleep: 
its Physiology, Pathology, Hygiene and Psychology. In the chapter on 


dreams may be noticed several references to the observations of Miss "Weed, 
Miss Hallam, Miss Phinney, and others, published in the series of Wellesley 
College Psychological Studies. Their investigation of emotion in dreams is 
especially emphasized." 

The foregoing paragraph, we are sure, will be of interest to present 
"Wellesley students, as it was while pursuing a course in psychology here, 
some years ago, that Miss Weed, Miss Hallam, and Miss Phinney made their 

Wallcs and Rides in the Country Mound About Boston, covering thirty- 
six cities and towns, parks and public reservations within a radius of twelve 
miles from the State House. Written by Edwin M. Bacon, and published 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for the Appalachian Mountain Club. Four 
maps, in two pockets, 420 pages, 150 illustrations. Price, SI. 25. 

The Appalachian Mountain Club has for many years taken regular Sat- 
urday afternoon walks in the vicinity of Boston. At the suggestion of Presi- 
dent Eliot, of Harvard, the club has undertaken the publishing of a guide to 
these walks, and equally interesting rides. The data they have collected 
they have put into the hands of Mr. Edwin M. Bacon, a man of recognized 
authority in the local history of this district. The result is most attractive 
and satisfying, the little book entitled " Walks and Rides About Boston," 
prettily bound, of a convenient size, and a treasure of information to those 
interested in the corner of Massachusetts it so well describes. There are 
fifty walks in all described, so mapped out that no one could lose his way or 
miss any point of historic or scenic interest. At the beginning of each 
chapter is given in fine print the means of transportation from Boston to 
each place mentioned, the steam and street railroad fares, a brief outline of 
the walk itself, followed by a condensed history of each town. Then follow 
the details of the walk, inscriptions on tablets being given verbatim et literatim. 

The book is illustrated by pictures of not only the well-known objects 
of interest, but also of others well worth especial notice, but which would be 
perhaps overlooked if not impressed upon the attention by a cut. There are 
also in pockets four maps of the region, covering northeast, northwest, 
southeast, and southwest roads and countries. 

Within a radius of twelve miles from the "hub of the solar system," 
the State House, are many of the notable landmarks and monuments of the 


Colonial, Provincial, and Revolutionary periods. To these objects of inter- 
est, as well as through a country of "lofty hills, broad sweeps of valley, 
masses of woodland, picturesque rivers, ponds, and trees," the little book 
leads us, and we are sure it is a welcome s;uide to wheel enthusiasts, to lon°' 
walk devotees, to sight-seers, and to nature lovers. 

The Forum. New York : The Forum Publishing Co., September, 1897. 

The September Forum contains an article of local, as well as of intrinsic, 
interest to Wellesley. It is entitled, " What Women Have Done for the 
Public Health," and is written by Miss Edith Parker Thompson, a Wellesley 
student of '92, who has since taken an M.A. in the University of New York. 
The article tells briefly, yet fully, the origin, rise, and work of " The Ladies' 
Health Protective Association of New York." Its early struggles are exceed- 
ingly interesting to all watching municipal improvements, and have been pro- 
ductive of much good in the establishment of similar organizations in other large 
cities. The appointment of women as inspectors in Chicago is also detailed, to- 
gether with a description of Diet Kitchens established throughout the country. 

Aside from the fact of Miss Thompson's being an old Wellesley student, 
the subject of her article demands that we urge all who can do so to read it. 
It is full of information we believe many to be ignorant of, and is written 
in such a manner as to rouse an interest in matters of vital importance. 


The Madonna in Art, by Estelle M. Hurll. Illustrated. Boston : L. 
C. Page & Co., 1897. 

Walks and Bides in the Country Round About Boston, covering 
thirty-six cities and towns, parks, and public reservations, within a radius 
of twelve miles from the State House, by Edwin M. Bacon. Published for 
the Appalachian Mountain Club, by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Boston, 1897. 
Price, $1.25. 


Oct. 3. — Rev. W. H. Ryder, of Andover, Mass., preaches again in the 

Oct. 6. — Miss Hill meets the Class of 1901 for an informal talk on the 
gymnastics of the coming winter. 


Oct. 9. — Tennis tournament begun. 

Miss L. B. Godfrey gives the second of the Current Topics lectures, 
upon " How To Use the Library." In the evening the Class of 1900 give a 
dance to the incoming Class of 1901. 

The Class of '99 hold their annual elections with the following result : 
president, Agnes Louise McFarland ; vice president, Olive Rosencranz ; 
recording secretary, Mabel Leonard ; corresponding secretary, Mabel Tower ; 
treasurer, Mary Latiderbach ; factotums, Grace C. Sutherland and Bessie 
Thomas ; executive committee, Misses Griswold, Clark, and Rousmaniere. 

Oct. 11 . — Mrs. Durant receives the members of the college faculty and 
many of her personal friends at her Wellesley home. On the following 
Wednesda3 r Mrs. Durant left for Montreal in the interests of the Boston 
Young Women's Christian Association. 

Oct. 12. — The elections of the Class of 1900 take place, and result as 
follows : president, Hilda Meisenbach ; vice president, Margaret Coleman ; 
secretaries, Hannah E. Hume and Wilhelmina Bayless ; treasurer, Mary 
Barbour; factotums, Edna and Ella Mason; executive committee, Misses 
Chase, Phillips, and Willcox. 

In the evening the Science Club held its first meeting. Reports were 
presented from the various scientific meetings held at large during the summer. 

The final results of the college championship in tennis are obtained. 
Miss Lou Barker, '98, is victorious. 

Oct. 16. — The Barn Swallows give a ghost party in the barn. 

Oct. 17. — The Rev. Dr. Win. H. Davis, of Newton, Mass., conducts 
the weekly services in the chapel. 

Oct. 18. — Rev. A. C. Berle addresses the Wellesley Club in Boston, 
upon "Greater Boston and Greater New York." 

Oct. 23. — Miss Calkins speaks before the Boston Union for Industrial 
Progress upon "Child Labor," the result of individual investigation. 

2.30 p. m., Miss Julia A. Eastman, of Dana Hall, gives the third talk in 
the Current Topics course upon "Emily Dickinson, her Life and Works." 

4.30 p. m., the Athletic Association holds a rally in the barn in the 
interests of college athletics. After dancing to the stirring tones of the 
hurdy-gurdy, short speeches on different phases of the athletic life of the 
college were given by Miss Woolley, Miss Claypole, and Miss Hill, of the 


faculty ; and by Miss Mason, '99, president of the Association ; Miss Dalzell, 
'98, and Miss Meisenhach, 1900, of the students. 

Oct. 24. — Rev. Nathan Wood, of Boston, preaches in the chapel at the 
usual hour. 

In the evening Miss Walker, of the College Settlements Association, gave 
a short account of her work. 

Oct. 31. — Rev. E. C. Jefferson, of Chelsea, Mass., conducts the usual 
services in the chapel. 

JSFov. 1. — The last month of fall is ushered in with a mildness and 
humidity of atmosphere strongly suggestive of April. 

In the evenino- the college and smaller houses are given over lo Hallow- 
e'en merrymakings. At Norumbega and Wood short farces are the chief 
attraction. College Hall is invaded by a troop of noisy children and their 
nurses, who were rejoiced with candy and fruit in the dining room, and af- 
terwards in the gymnasium by dancing, story-telling, and fortune predicting, 
until it was time for the little ones to go to bed. 

JSfov. 3. — The winter's work in the gymnasium is formally opened 
amid great enthusiasm among the members of the Class of 1901. 

General. — The Beethoven Society of the College, so well known to 
present students and alumnae, has been disbanded. Its place has been tilled 
by a new organization, called "The Wellesley College Choral Society," 
which is reported to be doing excellent and enthusiastic work under the 
direction of Signor Augusto Rotoli, of the New England Conservatory of 
Music. Signor Rotoli also gives weekly direction to the Glee and Banjo 
Clubs of the College. 


The Society Tau Zeta Epsilon had an initiation meeting Wednesday 
morning, October 13, at which the following were received into the So- 
ciety: Gertrude Underbill, '98, Mabel V. Tower, '99, Rebecca M. White, 

The Society Tau Zeta Epsilon held a formal meeting Saturday even- 
ing, October 16, at which current music and art note- discussed. 


A regular meeting of the Phi Sigma Fraternity was held Saturday, 
October 23, at which the following programme from the study of modern 
novelists was presented : — 

William Dean Howells ; Career as a Nov- 
elist ....... Miss Pierce. 

Rise of Silas Lapham ; A Critique . . Miss Paul. 

Henry James ; Career as a Novelist . . Miss Mooar. 

Portrait of a Lady ; A Critique . . Miss Tibbals. 

Music ....... Miss Paul. 

Modern Realism, as Seen in Works of 

Howells and James .... Miss Eunice Smith. 

The Rebound ..... Miss Gordon. 

There were present at the meeting Miss Mary W. Dewson, Miss Mary S. 
Goldthwaite, Miss Clara H. Shaw, all of '97, Miss Abby Paige, '96, Miss 
Mary Chase, '95, Miss Mabel Eddy. 

A programme meeting of Society Alpha Kappa Chi was held Saturday 
evening, October 9, 1897. The following programme was rendered: — 

I. Symposium. 

tvt c m • t j S Edith Ames. 

News from Classic Lands . . . { Louifle Sturtevant. 

II. Programme : — 

General Mythology .... Louise S. Wood. 

Greek Mythology . ... . Grace Linscott. 

German Mythology .... Mary Pierce. 

Eastern Mythology .... Helen Bogart. 

A meeting of Society Zeta Alpha was held on October 16. The sub- 
ject for the semester's work is Current Literature. The programme for the 
evening was as follows : — 

The Recent Work of Kipling . . . Helen Bennett. 
Richard Harding Davis and the New Aris- 
tocracy ...... Jeannette Marks. 

The Possibilities of Stephen Crane . . Luna Converse. 


Resume — Choir Invisible. Jerome. A 
Poor Man. On the Face of the Wat- 
ers. Pomp of the Lavilettes . . Alice Childs. 

Current Topic — Klondike . . . Katherine Ball. 

At a meeting of the Agora, held October 23, Miss Elizabeth A. Tovvle, 
of 1900, was initiated. The programme for the evening was as follows. 
Impromptu Speeches : — 

The Municipal Campaign in New York . Clara W. Brown. 

The Strike of the Miners in America and the 

Engineers in England .... Edith H. Moore. 

The Present Status of the Cuban Question . Lucy M. Wright. 

The usual papers were given in the form of a debate on the question, 
Resolved, That the absolute appointing power be given to the mayor of a 

Affirmative . . . Mary E. Cross, Helen H. Davis. 

Negative ....... Helen W. Pettee. 

A regular meeting of the Shakespeare Society was held Saturday even- 
ing, October 30. Miss Hilda Meisenbach, 1900, was received into the 
society. The following programme was presented : — 

I. Shakespeare News .... Ethel Bowman. 

II. Paper, " Sources of the Play " . . Louise McDowell. 

III. Dramatic Representation, " The Mer- 

chant of Venice," Act I., Scene 2. 
Portia ...... Miss Merrill. 

Nerissa ...... Miss Fuller. 

IV. Paper, " Some Humorous Characters of 

Shakespeare's Early Plays " . . Mary Gilson. 
V. Dramatic Representation, "The Mer- 
chant of Venice," Act V., Scene 2. 

Launcelot Gobbo .... xMiss Knox. 

Old Gobbo Miss Spink. 

Bassanio ...... Miss Cromack. 

Miss Goodloe, and Miss Painter, '97, were present at the meeting. 



Elizabeth M. Brown, '82, and Jennie C. Merrill, '83, spent Sunday, 
October 31, at the College. 

Annie J. Cannon, '84, will speak before the Boston College Club, 
November 20, on " Opportunities , for Women's AVork in Astronomy." 
Miss Cannon is working this year at the Harvard Observatory. 

By an unfortunate mistake, the name of Katherine Payne Jones, '85, 
was omitted last month from the list of alumnpe faculty. Miss Jones is 
delivering lectures on the Art of the Italian Renaissance. 

Leila S. McKee, '86, who since her graduation from Wellesley has 
received the degrees of A.M. and Ph.D. from Center College, Kentucky, 
is now the president of Western College, Oxford, Kentucky. 

Bessie Ballord, '87, is teaching German this year in the Randolph Har- 
rison School in Baltimore. 

Mary T. Blauvelt, '89, has an interesting and timely article on the 
arantino; of Oxford and Cambridge decrees to women in the Revieio of 
Reviews for September. 

Abbe Carter Goodloe, '89, has a sketch of Rocky Mountain life in 
Scribner's for September. 

Louise Swift, '90, is teaching in the Detroit High School. She spent 
last year in graduate study at Michigan University, where she received the 
Master's degree in June. 

Bessie B. Scribner, '91, who for the past five years has been serving 
under the Congregational Home Mission Society as a teacher in Rogers 
Academy, Rogers, Arkansas, is now teaching English in Drury College, 
Springfield, Missouri. 

Susan Cushman, '91, has returned to her former position in Taunton. 

Edith P. Thompson, '92, has contributed to the Forum a valuable 
article entitled, " What Women Have Done for the Public Health." 


Florence Converse, '92, is the author of a new novel, " Diana Victrix," 
just issued by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

Blanche L. Clay, '92, is continuing her work as reporter and corre- 
spondent for a Boston paper. 

The address of Mary Brigham Hill, '93, is 421 Marlboro Street, Boston. 

Helen Burr, '94, is at home in Melrose this year. 

Elizabeth G. Brown, '95, has returned from Europe, and has taken up 
the study of art. Her address is 15 Craigie Street, Cambridge. 

Bessie S. Smith, '95, is librarian of the Harlem Library, New York 
City. Her address is 32 West 123d Street, New York. 

Mary H. McLean, '9G, remains this year in the Haverhill (Mass.) High 

Louise Tayler, '9G, has an appointment as Assistant in the Animal 
Pathological Laboratory of the Agricultural Department in Washington. 
Her address is "Bureau of Animal Industry," Washington, D. C. 

Mary Hefferan, '96, is studying advanced Zoology at Chicago Univer- 

Ethelyn M. Price, '97, is teaching Mathematics in Central City, Col. 

Mary North, '97, is in charge of the study room in the Montclair 
(N. J.) High School. 

Alice E. Sherburne, '97, is teaching in the public schools in Lawrence, 

Rosina D. Rowe, Sp., '86-87, is Principal of the Training School for 
Christian Workers in New York City. 

Miss F. E. Lord is Professor of Latin in Rollins College, Winter Park, 

Miss E. H. Parker, formerly instructor in Chemistry, is now leaching 
Physics in the New Bedford (Mass.) High School. 



Miss Dresser, '90, spent October 8-13, at the Settlement. Miss Dresser 
will remain in Boston for the winter, and with Miss Eager expects to under- 
take the leadership of the Jefferson Club, one of the older boys' clubs, in 
their meetings here. 

The opening meeting of the classes was held October 11. Miss Warren 
gave a talk on Egypt, and Miss Scudder outlined the work of the year. 
Classes in travel, English, history, arithmetic, and Shakespeare have been 
formed. There are a few demands for dressmaking, millinery, embroidery, 
drawing, and art. Classes in these branches may be formed later in the 
year. The class in cooking will continue this year, taking up an advanced 
course under Miss Davidson, of the Y. W. C. A. 

The Federal Labor Union met at the House October 12 to hear Mr. 
McNeill give an account of last summer's British Trades' Congress, at Bir- 
mingham, which he attended as delegate from the American Federation of 
Labor. Miss Coman, Miss Marks, MissRousmaniere, and other college girls 
were present. 

The first and second lectures of Miss Scudder's course on Dante have 
been given. These lectures were intended primarily for the public school 
teachers of the neighborhood, to whom Miss Scudder two years ago gave a 
similar course at the Quincy School, opposite Denison House. 

Mr. and Mrs. J. R. McDonald, members of the Fabian Society of Londou, 
Eng. , spent ten days with us recently. Mr. McDonald lectured October 18 on 
"Democracy in the Municipality," before a number of invited gusts, among 
whom were Miss Scudder, Miss Brown, and Miss Balch, of Wellesley. 

The Wellesley girls have given two of their regular monthly entertain- 
ments for the year. October 7 Miss Marks and the Misses Mason were 
present. November 4 Miss Beach and Miss Hume furnished music. 

The Radcliffe girls, who entertain once in six weeks, gave a short play 
on October 21. The following week the Piety Corner Choir from Waltham 
gave a full musical programme, and an Italian family from the neighborhood 
assisted with mandolin, guitar, and voice. 

The business meeting of the Electoral Board was held in the Green Room 
of Denison House, Saturday, October 23, at 10 a. m. Electors from 


Wellesley, Smith, Vassar, Bryn Mawr, Swarthmore, Wells, Elmira, and the 
Woman's College of Baltimore were present. An open meeting, to which 
residents, and Settlement workers, and friends were admitted, was held at 
two o'clock. In the absence of Mrs. Montgomery, president of the Board, 
Miss Scudder presided at the meetings. The afternoon meeting was opened 
by Miss Warren's treasurer's report. Miss Dudley and Miss Jones of Phila- 
delphia, read the reports of the two Settlements of which they are the head 
workers, and the following short talks were made : Mrs. Putnam spoke of 
her work as rent collector of tenements in South Boston ; Miss Withington, 
of the co-operation between the Associated Charities and the Settlements ; 
Miss Beale of the Children's Aid Society ; Miss Watson of the Denison 
House Kindergarten ; Miss Florence Smith of Child Study; Miss Hazard of 
the College Extension Classes, and her travel class in particular ; Miss Wall 
of Club work. 

The public meeting of the College Settlements Association was held at 
Peirce Hall, Monday, October 25, at three o'clock. About four hundred 
were present, and great interest and enthusiasm was shown in the speakers 
from the various Settlements and kindred organizations. Miss Dudley pre- 
sided, and spoke of the true significance and aim of Settlement work. Miss 
Warren spoke of the needs and general state of affairs in the three Settle- 
ments in Philadelphia, New York, and Boston. Miss Kingsbury, of the New 
York Settlement, spoke of the people and political tendencies of the East 
Side iu New York. Mr. Billings, of the Wells Memorial of Boston, was the 
next speaker, and gave some impressions of Settlement work and its value 
in a neighborhood. Miss Scudder followed with an account of the College 
Extension work of Denison House, past, present, and future. Miss Dudley 
closed the meeting with a statement of our needs, and an appeal for help 
toward our more pressing needs. 

Miss Helen Gordon will take Miss Sherwin's class of Russian girls in 
English once a week. 

Miss Clara Willis, who is taking the kindergarten training this year, has 
been observing in the Denison House kindergarten the past week. 

Miss Walker, secretary of the Electoral Hoard, has been in residence 
during October. Miss Walker has spoken before the undergraduate chapters 
at Wellesley and Radcliffe during her stay in Boston. 



Martin-Hall. — In Marshfield Hill, Mass., June 9, 1897, Miss Flora 
Appleton Hall, '91, to Mr. Edwin Stanton Martin, of Boston. The present 
address of Mrs. Martin is 211 Bellevue Street, Newton, Mass. 

Aldrich-Drake. — In Manchester, N. H., Sept. 9, 1897, Miss Helen 
Drake, '94, to Mr. Charles Spaulding Aldrich, Brown, '94. The present 
address of Mrs. Aldrich is 57 Locust Avenue, Troy. 

Gross-Norcross. — In Worcester, Mass., Oct. 19, 1897, Miss Alice 
W. Norcross, '95, to Mr. Henry J. Gross. 

Tyler-Rogers. — In Allston, Mass., Oct. 28, 1897, Miss Ethel W. 
Rogers, '95, to Mr. Daniel Tyler. 

Snoddy-Davis. — In Crawfordsville, Ind., June 30, 1897, Miss Jessie 
Davis, formerly '98, to Mr. Samuel A. Snoddy. 

North-Alden. — In New Haven, Conn., Oct. 22, 1897, Miss Helen 
Margaret Alden, '98, to Mr. John Richard North. At home Sherland Ave- 
nue, Fair Haven Heights, New Haven, Conn. 

Mottle y-McCammon. — In Carthage, Ohio, Aug. 11, 1897, Miss Edna 
L. McCammon, '99, to Charles P. Mottley, of Bowling Green, Ky. 

Scott-Thompson. — In Dover, N. H., Oct. 27, 1897, Miss Helen 
Frances Thompson, Sp., '87-88, to Col. Walter Winrield Scott. At home 
after November 10, 158 Central Avenue, Dover, N. H. 

Choate-Scribner. — In Epsom, N. H., July, 1897, Miss Bertha Scrib- 
ner, Sp., '92-94, to Mr. A. G. Choate, of Monmouth. 


July 5, 1897, in Concord, Mass., a daughter, Joanna Sedgwick, to 
Mrs. Luella Smith Braley, '86. 

March 4, 1897, in New Haven, Conn., a daughter, Martha, to Mrs. 
Alice Wetherbee Moorhouse, formerly '87. 

July 28, 1897, in Waban, Muss., a daughter, Katherine Morgan, to 
Mrs. Belle Morgan Wardwell, '92. 

October 5, 1897, a daughter, Margaret, to Mrs. Mabel Glover Wall, '92. 



Lenox Waists 

Fisk, Clark & Flagg, Alakers 


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Collars, Cuffs, and 
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Our Stock 

Is constantly in touch with 

Progress, Reliability, 
Fashion, Economy... 

Complimentary Gifts, all prices. 

Engagement Presents, $1 to $10. 
Wedding Gifts, $2 to $100. 

Card Prizes, 50 cents to $3. 

If it's new we have it ! 

A. Stowell & Co., 

24 Winter Street - Boston, Mass. 

Intercollegiate Bureau and Registry, 

Cotrell & Leonard, 

472 to 478 Broadway, 
Albany, IV. Y. 


Caps and Gowns 

American Colleges. 

Illustrated Catalogue and Particulars on Application. 





Fancy Biscuits. 



Pickles, etc. 

Every Requisite 

Dainty Lunch 

for a 


Cobb, Bates & Yerxa Co's, 

680 Washington Street, 

Miss M. F. Fisk, 

No. 44 Temple Place, Boston. 

Wishes to announce to the Young Ladies that she has received 
her Fall and Winter Stock of 

Velveteen and 

French Flannel Waists. 

They are in Plain, Striped, and Plaid Effects, and are in beautiful shades of Red, Green, 
Purple, Brown, and Black. The style is very attractive, and the fit perfect, as they have 
been made on Miss Fisk's special chart. Miss Fisk would be greatly pleased to have you 
examine them, sending you all a cordial invitation to do so. 

Something New in Stationery, 

Prescriptions Accurately Compounded. 

WELLESLEY FLAG. Call and see it. 

Also a line of Baker's and Huyler's 

C. W. PERRY, Shattuck Building Wellesley. 




U«c V.rirf, of FANCY BOXES it BASKET*. 

imUblc for PRESENTS. 



Candies sent everywhere bmmlor express. 

When in Need of. . . 

Pure Drugs, Chemicals, 
Standard Patent Medicines, 
Toilet Articles, 
Perfumery, etc., etc., 

Call at 

0. A. Gould's Pharmacy, 

Partridge's ISuildiiiK, Wellesley. 

Our Hot Chocolate with Cream is Delicious. 


Wellesley Preparatory, 


For circular address the Principals, 



You cut down your school expenses, l^oolc ! ! ! 

Students' Paper, 25 cts. per lb. 
Students' Covers, 20 and 25 cts. each. 
Students' ("T.&M.Co.") Pencils, 3S cts. doz. 
Students' "Sterling" Steel Pens, 60 cts. gross. ■ 
Engraved Plate and 100 Calling Cards, $1.50. 

Engraved Die, ioo Sheets Paper and ) dj-A a i-i 

ioo Envelopes, Finest Quality \ w'T'. 1 /• 

All Students' Supplies equally low. Always use our A=A 
Waterman's " Standard " Fountain Pen. 


Stationers Engravers Printers, 

12 Milk Street, Boston. 

Established April, 1875. 

Wellesley College opened September, 1875. 


The Wellesley Grocer. 

In our Stock may be found 

Fruit, Confectionery, Lowney's Chocolates, 
Fancy Crackers, Maine Cream, Neufchatel Cheese, 
Crockery, Glassware, Lamps, Vases, Jardinieres, 
Toilet Soaps, Ladies' Boot Dressing, etc., etc. 

Thanking the public for their large exhibition of trust in my method of doing business, I solicit your 
continued patronage. 


The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special 
courses at Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the 
school year; Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman. 

Sarah P. Eastman. 



and all the 

Popular Shapes for Young Ladies 

A large assortment on Men's 
Shaped Lasts. 

Gymnasium and all styles of Athletic 
Shoes a specialty. 

Prices Reasonable. 

Discount to the Faculty and Students of Wellesley. 

T. E. Moseley & Co., 

469 Washingi:on Street, Boston. 

TUB Wiillesley Steam Launflry 

will call at the 

Main Building, Norumbega, Freeman 
and Wood Cottages ; collect Tuesday 
noon, deliver Saturday afternoon. Will also 
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deliver Thursday afternoon. 

All work guaranteed to be well done. No bleach 
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permitting. None but the best of supplies used and 
the best kind of work done with practically no wear. 
A fair trial generally makes a patron. 

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Kent Place School 
for Girls, 

Summit, New Jersey. 

Hamilton W. Mabie, 

Application may be made to the 

Mrs. Sarah Woodman Paul. 

Junius W. Hill, 

(Leipsic, 1S60-1S63.) 

For the past thirteen years Professor of 
Music in Wellesley College, and Director 
of the Wellesley College School of Music, 



At his Studio in Boston, 

154 Tremont Street. 

Specialties. — The Art of Piano-playing, Organ, 
J Harmonv, and Voice Culture. Correspondence so- 
licited. Circulars sent on application to any address. 


F. DIEHL, JR., k CO., 

Livery and Boardin: 


Baggage Transferred to and from Station 

Orders Promptly Attended To. 

Telephone No. 16-2. 

Wright & Ditson, 

The Leading Athletic Outfitters of New England. 


Golf, Basket Ball, Fencing-, and 
the Gymnasium. 

Special Attention given to Orders by Mail. 

Wright & Ditson, 

344 Washington Street, Boston, Mass. 
WE make a specialty of 

Winter Weight 

Walking Boots. .. 

Box Calf, Willow Calf. 

Rubber-sole Gymnasium Shoes 

A Full Line of Rubbers. 


Xo. 3 Clark's Block, 
IVatick, Mass. 

Insignia, Badges, Society Stationery. 

The Bailey, Bunks & Biddle Company has as- 
sembled exceptional lacilities for the prompt 
execution of orders for Insignia, Badges, and 
Society Stationery. This company owns proba- 
bly the most complete library in the Uniied 
States on the subject of Heraldry. With such 
wealth of authority constantly at hand, accuracy 
is absolutely insured. 

Patrons may feel equal confidence in the cor- 
rectness and taste of Socuty Stationery pre- 
pared by this house. 

Tfte Bailey, Banks 4 Biddle company. 

Jewelers, Silversmiths, Stationers, 




Via Fall River and Newport. 

The Famous Steamboats of this Line, the 


are substantially alike in design, appliances, finish, and fur- 
nishings, and the perfection of their service in every depart- 
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Tbe Route traversed by the Fall River Line is unsur- 
passed in attractive marine features and surroundings. 

Special Vestibuled Express Train leaves Boston 
from Park Square Station. 


G. P. A., N. V., N. H.J& H. R. R. (0. C. System), G. P. A., Fall River Line, 
Boston. New York. 

L. H. PALMER, Boston Pass'r Agt., 
No. 3 Old State House, Boston. 



Have Just Issued 
A New Book of Harvard Life 

By Charles Macomb Fi.amdrau 
Octavo, 340 pages, crimson cloth, $1.25 



C5 <^v C5 

»rS» ■r^*>» Br^Ss 

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"1 ""1" "11" "1 15 

£5 C"C5 Ol^ 

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In this series of interesting stories, Mr. 
Flandrau has drawn tne modern " Harvard 
man " as he is, nof as he used to be, or as 
he ought to be, but truthfully as he is. We 
feel sure that so accurate a picture of mod- 
ern college life has not before been drawn, 
and that all college men will appreciate this, 
and heartily welcome the book. 

For sale by all Booksellers or sent by the 
Publishers on receipt of price. 


Best Work. Low st Prices. 

Frank Wood, 

352 Washington Street, Boston. 

Telephone, Boston 273. 


Full Count. 

Prompt Delivery. 

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For women and positive style. That's what we studied 
for. That's what we have. Not a toe crowded. Noth- 
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The H. H. "Tuttle Shoe" 

is made on men's lasts. Has that graceful outside 
swing that gives the little toe breathing room. Double- 
soled calf for those who want heavy shoes. Lighter 
grades for others. $4 to $8 is the price. Discount to 
Students and Faculty. 

H. H. TUTTLE & CO., 

Washington St., cor. Winter Street. 


or THE 

New York Infirmary for Women and Children. 

""THE Thirty-second Annual Session opens October 
*■ 1,1897. Four years, Graded Course. Instruc- 
tion by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical 
■work, under supervision in Laboratories, and Dis- 
pensary of College, and in New York Infirmary. 
Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals 
and Dispensaries open to Women Students. For 
Catalogues, etc., address 

321 East 15TH St., New York. 

H. H. CARTER & CO., 

Stationers & Engravers 


20 per cent Discount 


Made by Wellesley College Students. 

5 Somerset St. (near Beacon), 


ig Bromfield Street - Boston, Mass. 

Artists' Materials. 



Christmas, Easter, Valentine 
and Birthday Gifts, etc 

Usual Discount to Students. 

Joel Goldthwait & Company, 

Have just opened and are now ready to show 
a large and very fine line of 

Scotch • Axminsters, • English • Wiltons • and • Brussels, 

With a full stock of 

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Humber Bicycles, $100.00 to $106.00. 

Noyes Bros., 

Washington and Summer Streets, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 

M. R. Warren Co. 


Engravers and 



Pens, Ink, Pencils, 

Pocketbooks, Card Cases, Playing Cards, 

Fountain Pens, Stylographic Pens, 


Students' Notebooks, 

Address, Engagement, Shopping and Visiting Books 

Paine's Duplicate Whist, 


Everything in Writing Materials. 


No. 336 Washington Street, Boston. 


I. H. * *., 

Ladies' and Children's 


Our Display of 

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Frank Wood, Printer, Bolton.